Walking east from king st metro. There across the st.
A book store. blank. double doors closed. Reminded
me of another book store. Same st. Few blocks on
opposite side. And I was walking to get coffee. And
inside there was this guy. At the counter. This guy
was tying his scarf into an ascot. Having a hell of a time.
Fumbling. Nervous. This guy. And a man he didn't know.
He asked him, 'What are you doing?' His hands stuffed
down into the fabric. Tugging. 'What are you doing?'
And he ordered the barista. Ignoring, 'What are you
doing?' Ordering the barista, the first man. 'Check out
this Ascot!' Very surreal. 'Oh,' she said. 'chhhhhhhhhhh.'
making my coffee. I took my cup to go. Fitted my own
cap. Being altogether in the line a ghost of coffee money
space time. (Last thing of note.) Neither man nor barista
wore a hat. Though the weather blew and hissed. Cold.
And I clutched pen with icy fingers. Scratching. (Ah).
Of particular importance. Both book stores are still
in operation. It was after 7 PM. Even in the dim light.
The faces were clear. And So were the eyes.