I saw some things on the street.
1. Asian woman with dog, which had planted its ass on the sidewalk and resolutely refused to move. She hauled periodically on the leash, each jerk accompanied by a rapid-fire burst of some unintelligible asian dialect which was clearly lost on the dog and probably the rest of humanity. Despite having hair so long it completely obscured his features, he had perfected the art not just of refusing to budge but of projecting an air of complete indifference, looking over one shoulder disinterestedly even while she near broke his neck. I suspect he was making some kind of statement on Vancouver's asian population.
2. Some homeless guy had resurrected an old microwave from someplace and found a working outdoor power socket outside Giga on Burrard Street. He was making microwave pasta as I walked by on my way back from the gym. Ten points for ingenuity. It actually smelled better than he did.
3. While standing on Davie Street waiting for a friend so we could get sushi, an odd couple happened by. He had that dinstinctive face-being-pulled-back-to-the-back-of-skull appearance which typically signifies having been up for the last 36 hours railing crystal meth; it's a sort of shiny hundred miles an hour expression usually seen on homeless people and indians (the natives, not the imports). I've seen him around before - spend enough time around Davie Village and you soon know all the crazy locals by sight. His escort was the intriguing part, and by escort I mean... escort. Tight jeans, tan leather jacket, actually kind of pretty, but two handbags, which I always associate with a working girl - you know, one for business, one for pleasure, though I'm never quite clear how one should differentiate. He was yammering away about something completely mundane as they passed, something no one could possibly be interested in, especially her, and she walked sort of two steps behind and to the side which is code for Fuck I hate my job, I'll just hang back a bit so casual observers won't think we're together. Then she caught my eye on the way past and I was struck with a momentary lapse of certainty: I'd just misread the whole thing, surely, and passively insulted a complete stranger. But she smiled slightly and rolled her eyes while the crazy speed freak jabbered on two steps ahead, and I knew I was right after all.
Davie Street is a colorful place. The escort could've been a black guy in drag and my worldview would scarcely have shifted.
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