Where I live, part 89

23 09 2010

I took the subway out to Coxwell today to pick up some food. On the way there, I was standing near a young Asian woman and an older woman with dyed red hair; the latter was teaching English to the former.

“Message,” the older woman kept saying.

“Messazh.”

“No, no. Message.”

Occasionally, she would throw in a “massage” for variety – which, of course, is pronounced completely differently. English must be impossible to learn if you’re not born to it. The student got off the subway at the same stop I did; I passed her on the way out the station entrance, and I could still hear her practicing: “Message. Message.”

On the way home, there was a young man – much shorter than me – who was getting rid of his excess energy by kicking his leg up over his head and touching the top of the clear plastic windows beside the subway doors. He then did a few chinups on the ceiling handrail before getting out at Pape. It’s just another day in Toronto.

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