life in a perfect rectangle

Winter Montreal doesn't give you many lazy walking opportunities. Today was an exception.

Maybe I got a little too excited with the Cons - it was still slushy. Then again, I am notoriously bad at dressing appropriately for the elements. No big deal. Mother Nature's only obstacle this afternoon was the large puddles that always accumulate at every street corner.

The route was well planned out. When you live in the city, everything is one perfect rectangle away. A quick stop at the TD Bank (now friendlier, as advertised) and then the tiny Iranian grocery store near the old neighbourhood. Amy and I would go there pretty often toward the end - even though we're not Organic disciples per se. The young girl who showed me how to grind the Starbucks coffee beans that had been sitting under our kitchen counter for months spoke in my favourite of French accents. She also made sure to sweep in the last of the coffee beans with what looked like a tny makeup brush, which I thought was nice.

I walked through our old alley after that. For Tigger, if nothing else. Had it been night, I might have hoped to catch a glimpse of him. The big guy running around his old stomping grounds - a little secret the universe and I could share once and never speak of again. Not in broad daylight, though. (Even Marquez's ghosts only visit at night.) I did make sure to capture a fresh mental image of the little archway where he would follow me to the front door and the school yard where he hung out that one Saturday Amy and I played badminton in the rain.

The line "we all went to heaven in a little row boat" gently passed through my mind and I felt a little sting in my nostrils. Some wounds always stay fresh.

I walked to the video store to return some movies. This was actually the point of the entire walk. The 9 am wake-up call from Amy this morning had also served to inform me that she would not have time to return said movies because she was working at Queen of the World until 5 pm.

Although I initially walked past Cafe Genova, I thought about how dark and coarse the Starbucks grind actually looked and decided against trying it out when I got home. A Saturday latte is a terrible thing to waste. Besides, despite being in his own little world almost all the time, Antonio makes one hell of a coffee. I was so busy sipping the thing on the walk back I didn't even notice big Brian pretend-body check into the Kebaberie window display that had caught my eye.

I half apologized for being in the moon. We quickly got on his favourite topic - the art of barbecuing - while Tammy smiled and half listened. No one else I know could stand there on the sidewalk explaining the magic of breaking down a tough cut like Brisket with nothing but low heat and time. What can I say? The man knows his meat. 

I told him - repeated, actually - that if I ever did decide to have that huge barbecue this Summer, he's my cook. I'll have to assume he'd be in like sin.