when she arrived at the station she was impressed with its interior architecture. smooth curves intersecting at the vaulted ceiling. sitting on the uncomfortable wooden bench, she noticed a man staring at her. she looked away, and would glance back at his direction occasionally to see if he had stopped or gone away. he did neither.

she became increasingly agitated, fixing her skirt, checking the buttons on her shirt, redoing the strap on her shoe several times. it was a paranoia of hers to be objectified. the thought of someone mentally groping her was disconcerting, and she nearly began hyperventilating. her cheeks flushed, and she began drumming nervously on the side of the bench.

the train whistle blew, people hurried past her bench. undisturbed, she remained determined to ward off this man. with a deep breath, her fists clenched, she stood up and began walking towards him with brisk steps. as she grew closers, it became obvious that the man was not a man, but rather a very realistic looking mannequin. she walked a few steps closer, slowly, her hands relaxing, her shoulders dropping, the creases in her forehead dissolving. after laughing aloud for a moment she walked back to the bench and resumed waiting.

[09/01/03]

her toes peeked out from the tips of the shoes and she wriggled them as she stared down, looking at them as though they weren't hers. the shoes pleased her, happiness building up and manifesting in a smile. another shopper saw her happiness and began smiling as well at the infectious feeling.

while walking to the till with the shoes she began to think about how she couldn't afford them, or shouldn't afford them. her smile evaporated, replaced with a look of confusion. a great argument began taking place, panic mounting, as she tried to decide what to do about the shoes. she desired them more than anything else she had seen in months. i'll never find another pair like them. but i really shouldn't spend the money. but my other shoes are worn out. but they can last a bit longer. but i deserve them after waiting so long. you don't deserve anything.

however inanimate the shoes were, they still had the ability to coax, cajoling her in a seductive voice. you want me. i want you. yes. i want you. putting the shoes on a display stand, excusing herself, walking out of line and leaving the store. the autumn air stung her arms and she put on her sweater.

[09/01/03]

as he entered the bathroom he was overwhelmed with the smell of feces. the stall door was locked and he felt nauseous, yet incapable of stopping breathing in the thick air. this environment pushed an unwelcome intimacy upon him. a forced sharing of odours.

urinating. acrid. early morning piss. stinging his nose. filling the air further. smells intermingling. stomach lurching from the thought. bowels loosening. dizzy. hand on the wall. steadying himself. zipper zipped. splash of water. exit.

breathing. sickened with the thought of being nothing more than another animal. looking at the hair on the backs of his hands he recoiled, stuffing them into his pockets. eyes filling with tears. walking through the fire exit and into the stairwell so no one could watch him cry.

[09/01/03]

a thousand windows, punctures in the stone and steel faces of monoliths. entrance points to countless, seemingly unrelated, narratives. this is what she thinks while she sits in her chair, looking out of her third story window, a slash of sunlight coursing imperceptibly across the room.

"how many of those windows can't be opened? how do those people continue to process that stale air?" she no longer thinks of the work in front of her, completing tasks absently. her concentration is mistaken for attentiveness to her job and she is given promotions accordingly, though she has not been engrossed with her daily functions for several years. "this doesn't mean anything." thoughts echo, a blank gaze at the papers on the desk.

each day she wonders what it would be like to toss herself from the window, visualizing the slow, quiet arc of her body falling, never imagining the crunch of her bones landing or the wetness of her flesh rupturing. she will never act this out, yet the thought never ceases to excite her. the rapid beating of her heart is visible through her thin shirt. her eyes move from the window back to the mountain of words in front of her.

[09/01/03]

empty train drifts forward, stopping. clank of tracks switching. a decomposing firehose, a pale snake in the short grass, rotting from neglect.

the train waits without patience, an automated pause, before sliding back into the station on another course. passengers scurry above. schedules are met, and missed.

mechanics of transport. fleshy cargo shifted between fixed points. today a body will toss itself onto the tracks and disrupt the regulated rhythm of transit.

[09/01/03]

now that the parkade had been demolished there was the remnant of a stairwell, scarcely more than a shadow, visible on the side of the building next to it. each floor was clear as a forty-five degree angle strip of missing paint with a few steps visible.

as the demolition occurred he watched from the cafe across the street. jackhammer throbbing, concrete cutting, white noise of construction. a maximalist soundscape absorbed by his body, pushing out semi-forgotten memories of late night excess and early morning introspection sitting on those now disappeared stairs.

he wanted to take a photograph of the ghostly stairs, a reminder of a past he longed to return to, but he didn't have a camera. it had been stolen recently when his apartment was broken into. he had bought the camera on a street corner, and hadn't yet had a chance to see if it even worked.

[09/01/03]