a man in his leather jacket calls me mamacita, ''ti quiero mucho, beautiful girl.'' i smile, i let him kiss my hand, he moves on to the next young girl behind me. he moves on like all good things.
a man shouts and prophecises the end, captive bus passengers are the only audience he can find to listen to his ideas. i listen with a grin. i want to get up and hug him.
an old chinese man: shamefully cute in his square thick-rimmed glasses, his pants chin-high. he gesticulates wildly, he grins and laughs, he points. translation: he loves my cheap-o chinatown shoes. i love him too. he pats my shoulder kindly as he leaves.
a lady gets on, loaded down with bags. she sees a familiar face, tells him that her guardian angel sent him to help her. she loads him up with everything, giggling. he is covered in bags.
ah vancouver, you're not so bad.
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what lovely little pieces of life here in this rainy rainy city....
every day, so many stories on its streets, aboard its buses, in its nooks and crannies. it will tell you its secrets, if you listen closely enough.
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