True Stories of Urban Adventure! Pt 1: Romance, and Cake
So, I was driving into my parking spot at my condo in my old car, a shabby Cavalier dubbed by my friend Marc to be “Lady Cavalieria”. Its real name was “American Shitbox Moneypit of Shit”. My used Honda Accord would be embarrassed of my old car.
My parking space has a concrete barrier wall, about 2 feet high on the North and East corners. It also has all the cigarette butts. It is perfect for sitting on, littering near, sitting on litter, etc.
In any case, along with the trash, the whimsical hobos also accumulate in that corner, often sitting there and ranting, or being passed out, or pooping in a bag or what-have-you. I pulled in a few days ago to find a dude reading the bible and nodding in agreement at some passage. More recently I found an empty suitcase, and before that? An entire cake. A whole, perfect, chocolate cake- made as an offering to me? More on the cake later.
On this particular sunny day, let’s call it spring, There was a murder of hobos (flock? herd? a congress?) gathered on the wall, sitting and discussing important matters. They were exceptionally drunk. Unusually hammered drunk for that time of day, which was after work- perhaps 5 PM? They would have to move in order for me to pull my car in, and they begrudgingly did so.
In any case, the convocation (romp? pod? muster?) of vagrants dispersed, and gathered themselves to travel to the shade by the entrance to my building. I waved “thank you” to them, and deplaned from my car (exited?).
The hobos and I were headed in the same direction, and from one of the I heard “Hey!” In a husky feminine drunken kind of voice. The first time I assumed it wasn’t directed at me, but again it came, like a meadowlark drowning in vomit “Hey!”.
Inadvisedly, I turned. There she was, an aboriginal woman (“Native” in Canada is an acceptable term), about 6’6″, easily over 250 pounds, rough skinned and stoic. A mighty Amazon warrior goddess from a once proud race, now reduced travelling with a pack (coven?) of itinerant vagabonds who she could easily have crushed in her mighty arms.
“Hey. Hey sunshine.” she said.
I assumed at the time she meant me, as I was the only waifish strawberry blond fellow walking directly through her field of vision. I’m not short, but I was snack sized to this fierce huntress.
“Um, hey.” I replied, blondly.
“Hey sunshine, I like you.” She said.
“Thanks!” I said without a hint of panic. This was a woman who could have taken anything she wanted, riding the mighty plains and gathering victims or lovers in her merciless grasp. I was a man who, confronted by a woman such as she, would do as I was told.
“Yeah, sunshine. I like you”.
“Thanks!” I said a second time, fumbling with my keys.
It was a few days later that I found a chocolate cake, possibly harvested from the local grocery store, sitting in front of my parking stall. There it sat, untouched, pristine, and disappointingly unwrapped… There were 2 plastic forks sitting beside it. No note.
Was this cake for me? From her? I never saw her again. I couldn’t bring myself to bring the cake inside, abandoned there without protective covering. So, I watched it. I watched that cake for 4 days. By day 4, the squirrels and the neighbourhood cats had gotten into it, and it was ruined.
