Had the black man rambling on the street corner been more than just a black man rambling on the street corner, perhaps there may have been the opportunity for his uttered words to bear some truth.
The 30 minute lunch provided the chance to jut across the busy intersection of Yonge and Eglinton for some local over-priced street meat. "Are you sure you're dialling the right number?" he asked as I passed him while placing a call. I smiled and continued on like the hungry bitch I am (was ...at the time).
Gum melted under my thong sandals as I waited while the 10 or so sausages were served to the patron before me.
I sat and ate.
And drank.
And fought off the 'itis' while walking back.
"My soul sister," he says, "you've got a contact in Hollywood."
Where might this contact be, Mister Man?
Considering I'm working for just a few dollars above minimum wage, I sure could use it.
sleep.in.ideas.
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