Anodyne
Monday, November 06, 2006
 

The season's first Pacific storm. Sunday afternoon: curdled grey sky, light wind, curtains of rain drawn one after the other across the North Shore mountains. Light rain at six, dampening the awning and the bargain table. Down to Chinatown for a studio visit after dark, rain picking up now, sluicing off the aging red and green awnings. Faded backlit color transparencies of dim sum c. 1975, white steamed buns in bamboo baskets. The street-litter found nowhere else on the West Coast: leaves, needles, old Kleenex, gravel deltas banked along the curbs. A stooped wet figure repetitively knocking an empty pint bottle against the green brick side of "the world's narrowest building."

Walking on into downtown, rain harder now, the oncoming headlights on Georgia Street illuminating a wall of water. The numerous buckets full of copper-colored leakage in the men's room at the Lennox Pub. Granville Street deserted at 11pm. Shoes soaked, canvas coat soaked, indestructable orange rain hat soaked. Rain battering the apartment windows all night long. On the slow bus this morning, shifting Bay of Fundy tides in the aisles. Wet wadded Kleenex underfoot, a chorus of hacks and coughs. Rain rattling off the roof. Condensation filmed on every window. My pale face reflected, distorted, in the dripping glass.
- posted by cjb @ 9:18 AM


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