The warm weather seems to invite the more peculiar people, or at least their more peculiar behaviors, out into the sunlight. People-watching enters a whole new arena of intrigue and amusement.

People, like the people at the bus stop every morning, are suddenly looking like people again. Unpeeled from parkas and hoods and heavy sweaters and scarves. Ties are loosened, top buttons unlatched, and there is no eye contact because everyone is wearing dark shades and the direction of glances is no longer certain. Voices are louder, bolder. And where were all of these people a month ago, the hordes pushing down Front St. at lunchtime?

Those who have not emerged at all, for all these cold months, step out . . .

Picture a middle-aged woman walking, eyes off in another direction, slowly crossing the laneway of her suburban home and stepping onto the busy sidewalk on Bathurst St.
She wears only a scarlet silk nightie, frightfully short in hem and tightly cut, with a matching robe. She has no footwear, but she does have a shower cap over the head with dark tufts sticking out. She shuffles along, mumbling something I can’t hear, and follows us under the train overpass before stopping and turning back after several beats.

Nice day for a walk . . .

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