Downtown

I hopped on the local inter city transit bus - I was unusually effervescent. I was quite looking forward to my appointment in Toronto. And the bus ride - always a good chance to catch up on some sleep. I find it odd that my sleep cycle forms some kind of peculiar balance sheet in my head. As though I'm saving up for some early retirement at a sleep clinic or something. As I boarded, I ran a cursory glance. Why? Call it force of habit. I chose to take the reserved seat - it was rather roomy, and I am rather spoiled. I plopped into my seat, rather smugly - looked up at the people filing in to the bus. Male, late twenties, wrinkly suit, cheap tie, unruly  hair- accountant, fresh out of school, maybe? Woman, mid-thirties, generously proportioned, excessively made up - receptionist. Most probably single. Male, early sixties. Long hair - tattooed arms, mullet, slight limp - trucker, perhaps, retired after a rather bad accident? Could just be arthritis. This little game kept me entertained for a while until I observed what seemed to be an endless parade of accountants and lawyers. Time to catch up on that sleep, I told myself. Why I need to mentally instruct myself to "go to sleep" like a child instead of just falling asleep, I don't know.

I was awoken by a girl's laughter. No, not soft, like a water meadow. Sharp, loud, and annoying. My neck was sore from sleeping like a corpse hanging from a parachute - I managed to look up behind me. It took me a few seconds to realize - but all the subjects of my painstakingly detailed observations had been replaced (save the lawyers and accountants, of course). The source of this cacophony was apparent - a girl, couldn't have been older than myself, was beside herself with glee. Save the thin headphone connected to her mobile, one would have had the urge to prescribe her some antipsychotics. Shut the fuck up, woman! Have you no sense of public decorum? Yeah - you wish I'd said that. Actually I wish I'd said that, sadly. I just sat there, shooting nasty glances which went largely unnoticed. To my surprise, so was everyone else. Cowardice wearing the mask of civility, I suppose. I found that interesting.

I closed my eyes to fall back asleep, but right then the bus took a swaying turn to the right, triggering some long dormant nostalgia - the downtown Toronto off ramp. I haven't been to this city in years, I thought. I wasn't exactly sure what it was - call it a nervous energy. Like before you go on stage to deliver that well rehearsed speech - you know it could go really well, and you also know it could go to absolute shit. 

Speaking of, the smell of steaming gutters greeted me as I stepped off the bus. I observed my surroundings - the city seemed to breath life. Not the deep, calming breath you would deserve after an ungrateful day at work - no. It sort of gave the air of being asthmatic, if anything, if you can picture that. Almost sporadically, people poured in and out of buses and trams, walked between fast changing traffic lights, with certain (and i'm sure in their minds, regal) purpose. I noticed little conversation - just very attractive, well dressed people plugged in to their worlds, in little invisible boxes. 

I will be honest. I've always been a little skeptical of walking downtown. I dislike the smell, do not care for the crowds and find the lack of parking rather irksome. I fear the street musicians and hobos - not because they might kill me or anything, but because I'm very inadept at social situations that require me to part with cash I do not actually have. You'd think they'd have some kind of hobo Interac network by now - they can be very inconsiderate indeed. Seriously, who the fuck carries cash? Pretentious prick, you say? No. My innate laziness costs me the proclivity of carrying money in my pocket.

And yet I love walking downtown. Conflicted idiot, you say? Very much so. Sure - you've got to love the giant mirrors on the side of every building, my ego was certainly competing with some of the taller buildings after I'd walked a few blocks. You've got to love how massive and awesome the buildings are - architectural marvels, some might say. You've got to love the hot dog stand on every block. You've got to love the gazillion taxis at your beck and call. But that's not why I love walking there, and that's not why I would very much love to live there sometime.

It's the feeling that you could pretty much run around downtown singing "stairway to heaven" at the top of your lungs dressed in a chicken suit - and no one would give you a dirty look or a stare down. No one could care less for you, yet there's always a chance that someone would join you and probably run around you playing air guitar. It's this cold, yet inclusive and welcoming place. It has buildings with rich character - and also some odd shaped, just plain ugly looking ones. It's an oddly neat balance of crazy and normal.  It makes you forgive the blandness of the suits and ties for the eccentricity and fun it promises. 

I was getting close to my destination. I'd walked almost eleven blocks, day dreaming about downtown while being downtown. I stopped and turned to look back. A group of professionals on their smartphones skillfully navigated around me, never once looking up from their phones - not even to curse the guy stopping dead right in front of them. I watched as the sun glowed orange in between two mammoth structures, and the horizon narrowed to a close, the streets busy as ever.