Back at work. The concrete jungle is one giant construction zone. It takes strategic planning to avoid dust, mud and detours. Everyone looks exasperated, except for the tourists who seem to find amusement in TO’s disheveled appearance. As long as they can find Timmy’s, all is good.
In my office, I hear the constant noise of construction. It becomes background music, industrial metal for the urban age.
The heat outside is extreme, as is the air conditioning in the office towers. A reflection of our times. Absence of moderation.
I notice lately how people in public places exhibit less civility, awareness of others. Maybe they’re too worn out by daily demands to engage.
Too tired to read an entire book in a few days, so I read every few days a bit of Lisa Moore’s “Caught” (not as good as “February”). I’m not sure I like the story, but I love the ways she tells it. Her language is both rich and quintessentially Canadian.
I looked at David Rakoff’s novel in verse. I read some passages, and then walked out without buying the book. Too sad to read now. I marvel at his imagination and talent to be able to recreate lives in rhyme that seem so real that they could be part of the same world as you and I inhabit.