Some days are just like this

It's been one of those weeks, of raging hormones and sleepless nights (thanks in part to my noisy student neighbors, their parties and the ubiquitous stench of the skunk permeating the West End) and work stress and budgeting needing to be balanced and forecasting analyzed, of rain and sun and no clear weather pattern, of boxes half unpacked and landlady's constant phonecalls to show my overpriced flat to unsuspecting students.

Sometimes, it's just best not to answer the phone but make blackberry pancakes for dinner, buy that new t-shirt, make lunch dates with crushes and take the dog for a walk to clear your aching head, and let him rest his heavy head on your feet.

And sometimes a kind word, or an unexpected email, an invite to a party can remind you that you are loved. And sometimes everything is shit, except for you. Love.

Davie Street

He walks down the street, an aging briefcase resting over his shoulder. His gait is awkward, unsteady, angry. Filthy trousers and unkempt hair, he mutters at those crowding his sidewalk. Yelling lyrics to a song only he knows at the couple with the smiling faces.

A grey Saab pulls to the curb, honks, oblivious. He turns on one foot, unsteady but ready, his coat swinging, upturned arm holding his brown bag against an ear. Shouts, a string of curses around his lined face, alongside musical melodies.

Behind me, a young tourist turns to his friend. "I wonder if he realizes his ghetto blaster is a suitcase."

I smile. Cross the road and walk home.