I attended Toronto Twitterbrunch the other day, saw tinkugallery, Rannie Turingan and other interesting people. We ate at Bloor St. Diner. It was half dark inside the diner, and an orchestra was playing. I got up and went to get more salmon. I had to move very slowly because an elderly lady was walking in front of me, and there was no room to pass her. She was fat (not obese, just the type of extra weight you get with years), wore some kind of dark purple or blue sheath with pattern and limped heavily. Having returned to our table, I saw her again – she sat alone at a small table right next to ours. I thought she must have had a remarkable face when she had been young – not necessarily pretty but striking. Thick hair, dark and grayed, cut short. Aquiline nose. Her lips were moving, but she did not look as a street crazy talking to herself. I thought for some reason that she was reciting poetry, or, maybe, repeating the lyrics of whatever the three-piece orchestra was playing at the time. She did not look lonely at all, she was somewhere very deep inside her inner universe. Probably the word that springs into mind is “dignity”. And I thought, I want to be her 25 years from now.


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