...So I realized the other night, while telling our friend Paul, that there are many weirdo funny men in our neighbourhood, who we now have pet names for...
Mat spends a lot of time smoking while looking out the window, so he knows just what's going on on the street. We have developed story-lines for some of their lives.
Today I saw Fast-Smokey-Walker and thought of how I've missed him. He is short and bow-legged and bald and walks really fast, sort of with a springy up-and-down motion, like a cork screw, he smokes intently as he walks, inhaling frantically like each drag is his last. He smokes fast! fast! fast!... and walks all fast and bouncey as he does. I like 'em. We surmise he was not allowed to smoke for a long time and is making up for it now.
Then there's The Cowboy. Lots of people know him, He is a tall black man that rides around on roller blades, wearing a black leather outfit and yells, bellows actually, like a preacher, as he spins up and down Queen street. One day I saw him outside of Dollarama holding a pigeon in one hand and yelling some stuff about god and the pigeon. He had the pigeon gripped tight so it couldn't fly away and it was very disturbing. No one had Any reaction Whatsoever though, because it was in front of Dollarama... and being inside of dollarama is Crazier than anything outside of it. (Case in point, we actually saw two old men on those motorized scooters, rascals, fighting about who was going to get out of the way first to let the other pass. It was in front of the exit so their petty bickering prevented anyone from passing and hence, chaos ensued. Man it was funny. As Mat and I stood there exchanging bewildered and amused glances, the scooter fight grew bigger, Mat started to hum jingle bells (appropriate and damn funny as it was right before christmas), and old ladies started to push the scooter men and the cashier yelled at them both to move along with her caribbean accent. Chaos).
Then there's the local bicycling crack dealer who rides around on his bike and has a special whistle to tell all the crack heaqds to "come out and get it!" like a little dinner bell. I've seen them come stumbling out... "Hey Ricky - Whaddaya Got today?" Like an old fashioned knife sharpener he delivers door to door.
Oh and there's one of our favourotes - Harmonica Gang. He has a little harmonica and plays "Born Free" all the time. His talk is high-pitched, squeaky... muttery and dismissive and hard to understand. Mat does a wicked impression of him, one that reduces me to hysterical laughter every time.
There's more but I lack time. Perhaps, I will do a part two....