I thought I had seen everything until I saw an Asian gentleman pull out his cellphone and proceeded to dial. At the corner of my left eye I saw what looked like plastic, I thought to myself, ‘no way, is that a Ziploc sandwich bag he is using as a cellphone cover?’ I turned around fully as if to look for the streetcar as I waited by the stop and sure enough it was a Ziploc sandwich bag tightly wrapped around the cell phone as the man made his call and started talking on the phone. Hmmmmm, ok I said to myself, ‘to each his/her own.’ I guess its like when my grandmother use to wrap her money in a handkerchief and place it in between her bosoms using it like a purse, or when she use to use a plastic bag to put her loose change in and then she would tie a knot to secure it and put it in her bag. Whatever works right? “When better cannot be done then worst most continue.”
He Smelt Like Ganja
The smell was fiercely strong, so strong I tasted in the back of my throat. If I inhaled too deeply I would grow hair on my chest and get a wicked high. Trust me, that is no small exaggeration. I kept taking shallow breaths to alleviate some of the powerful odour and taste that clung to my palette. Instantly the smell grew closer to my right and hover. I turned to my right and looked up where the scent held strongest. ‘Hmmmmmm…..,’ I thought, ‘young.’ Standing beside me separated by plexi-glass stood a young man in his mid-late twenties shabbily dressed in a washed out navy blue hoodie sweatshirt opened down the front with a hole in the middle of the right hand pocket, a ruffled washed out rusty pink t-shirt with a small hole in the upper middle of his chest, grey baggy sweat pants and sneakers. He held his held slightly back with his eyes closed as he listened to the music attached to his ear via earphones. His right hand held tightly to the pole next to me. He adjusted his hand and moved it slightly up the pole closer to my nose and the ganja smell assassinated my senses. Yep, he smelt like ganja, weed, Marijuana, pot, dodo, cannabis, devil-grass, chronic, grass, dope, herbs, Whatever you call it, have mercy, he was swimming in it. I thought damn, did he roll around in the seeds, pee, wipe his sweatshirt with the leaves and stick the roots in his pockets. He was of course completely oblivious to me and my mental meanderings. I guess instead of breakfast on the run he had ganja on the run? Well, we all have our vices?