construction

Yesterday, I drummed for the first time this year. I went downtown, opposite the steps of the Art Gallery, and went behind the trees, facing the waterfalls cascading down the windows of the skyscrapers.

There was a man, Cornelius, who treated me to a beer, shook my hand, and gave me a hug. It was the first time I've really gotten to know the people of this city. In Toronto, I met the streetwalkers and the tunneldwellers, and their intensity made me love that city. For that moment in my life, I knew what being homeless felt like. I knew the despairity, and the freedom of living out of a shopping cart. I drummed on the streets, on the stairs climbing zig-zagged up into the heights of Casa Loma. Here, in Vancouver, I encountered the first of the streetdwellers. Cornelius came from Romania, where he served in the military. He drank beer poured into a plastic bottle, and I have respect for him.

Towards the end of the night, I met Daniel, who was drumming in the old African way, at the entrance to Broadway Station. The two of us. We shook the walls and sang about the old African ways. We were strangers, but became friends in the span of the few minutes we drummed.

I found the streedancers stalking the dance floors of Robson Square, rap music blaring. They had the youth, the moves, the music, and the girls. The ten of them, they would do the "around the floor on all fours thing", swing their feet around, and stand on their hands, all one after the other, until it became kinda funny. They were a synchronised dance team, who didn't know one another until the moment they started dancing.

I took the night bus home, tired and exhausted. At home, the excitement gradually bled off, and what was left kept me awake, thinking about her.