Smile For The Camera

Here's your picture, and he thrust his ancient flip phone with a built in camera right into Dave's face as he rose out of his seat and headed to the subway door. Dave took notice of the guy peripherally a few stops previous but chose to ignore his tingly spidey sense in the moment. The guy's eyes seemed to be pointing in different directions which confused Dave; he was unable to discern whether or not he was actually the one being photographed or if the phone guy was shooting the 20 year old blonde in the seat ahead of him. Either way, Dave was now hyper aware of the constant electronic shutter snap coming from the odd man in the green parka with the orange tennis shoes sitting across the aisle. Dave tried to subvert his gaze and then felt utterly ridiculous holding up a gloved hand to partially obscure his face, like he was some celebrity feigning irritation with the papparazzo. Although he had to admit, the guy was really beginning to creep him out. The blonde must have felt it too. She got up and made no small moment of switching seats so that she faced away from him at an angle, making herself almost impossible to photograph without causing an obvious distraction. Dave wondered why this always happened to him, only when he found himself half in the bag on his way home, too broke to take a taxi. The phone guy turned to face Dave directly, or as direct as he could with eyes at opposing angles. Then he snapped away, once, twice, then in rapid succession for five more clicks.  Not an alarmist by any stretch of the imagination, Dave considered hitting the yellow emergency passenger assistance band then envisioned having to expain to the transit cops that yes sirs, there was a strange dude in a parka with orange sneakers snapping pictures of me so I stopped massive transit because well, you see, I felt uncomfortable. So Dave stood and that's when the guy lunged at his face. The last thing Dave remembers thinking was wow, I bet it's not even a very good shot.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Moving in Stasis

Go. Get on that plane, that train, that bus. Walk if you have to. Swim, we've got great lakes and oceans and rivers. So many bodies of water and tracts of land to get across. Find a way, they said, just get here, soon. And so Tally packed a bag with just the essentials: a blueberry corn muffin with a shmear of cream cheese, her well worn pocket stone she rubs in her left hand, a packet of mints from the drive in theatre, and two pineapple juice boxes. A clean pair of socks, some dental floss, mom's old cigarette lighter she stole off her bureau, and twenty three dollars and eighty five cents in change. That was the heaviest part of her backpack. She wondered if she was forgetting something but her mind raced with all the things at once. Will her shoes be comfortable on the long journey? Did she feed the cockatiel before she left the house? How can she get across the ocean if the boats aren't docking in the harbour anymore? What if she runs out of money? Will Joseph be
Read more

Kindness Is A Boomerang

If he can make it off the couch to the kitchen, then he'll be up and at 'em. Movement is motion and motion is energy and like a battery, he'll recharge. Feel better. Or different. Good enough. Long nights of hourly wake ups, followed by the struggle to quiet his mind. Loop, loop, looping through endless thoughts of what if and who will and I should and maybe they'll but just go to sleep. Sleep. No tech in his room, just sleep and sex. Although physical touch has been lacking. Wanting. Week seven, but who's counting.  And that's just sheltering in place. Before that, well...seasons. The sky is bright. City living with no light pollution is like life at the cottage on Lac St Joseph. There are meteors tonight, a shower or falling or maybe it's his brain playing tricks on his eyes. Looking for things  he can't possibly see. Four missed calls. Thirteen notifications. No one he's pining for so it's a wash. Is it too late to get up... too early
Read more

Good, Not Great

She hits the down button. Two hospital admin types, young women in almost stylish outfits, the ones afforded on entry level salaries, wait on a car going up. The elevator arrives, doors open, she steps on then realizes she's going up. Force of habit, she says aloud to no one in particular, pavlovian response. The two women sort of smile as they study the floor, suddenly intensely awkward and private. She gets louder as she backs out of the car. Doors close and she hovers her finger over the already illuminated down button. Right, just did that. It's quiet here, far from the madding crowd. Emerg was busy, mainly the geriatric crew. A few indigent and drunk and disorderlies draped over chairs, hanging out of gurneys, buried under sheets and gowns, moaning, rambling incoherently. It's the large-and-in-charge paramedic night: 4 teams of doughy young men stand sentinel with their wards, buried in paperwork, bored with the hurry and up wait logjam of daily deliveries.
Read more