city s...

city squares, sharing earphones, fighting over the window seat, baseboards lined by books.i keep my expectations at the lowest possible levels. i do this to avoid disappointment, i do this because my life has become plastered over the walls and other people's lives with it. i've slowly learnt to expect nothing and have become willing to give (almost) everything to the next stranger. the phone doesn't ring, and i am not surprised nor disappointed, because this is of course, expected. at the corner of elgin and sparks street, across from a post office, beneath an irish pub named for a famous père de la confédération, lies the imperial barber. a place where civil servants and beige trench coats sit for the same shave their great-grandfathers received so long ago. he goes there for a haircut. he goes there because the original wainscoting smells of history. he goes there because hair is all he can cut.