9.25 Grange memory

It was a glorious day yesterday, one of those days you grab at because you know you’re parceling out just a few more before sullen winter lowers itself. I walked home, savouring, treading memories from my nearly 25 years here.

Walking down mccaul, I missed the dim sum restaurant that used to be in the grange, where I’d take myself sometimes because B didn’t care for dim sum, where I once listened as a woman hectored her friend for flakiness over some boy, “I wanted to spend the day with you, not run through the AGO in an hour so you could go home and have sex!”, chopsticks pointed.

After B and I split up, I had a coffee date with a guy I met online here, a mistake before my filters kicked in. He had big swathes of his past he preferred not to talk about “because it gets him into trouble,” fantasized about being a puppeteer, looked a bit like an aardvark. I hadn’t learned that you don’t really have to stay for an hour when you find conversation painful.

On the weekend, P was telling me about a date she had with a guy she’d met online. They met in the parking lot of a legion so they could go ballroom dancing, and he arrived on an e-bike apologizing for the darkness of the dollar store dye job he’d done on his hair and moustache. She danced with him, compassionate. I feel he was her aardvark man with someone much more click-y right around the corner.




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