Speeding colours
For the second night in the row, I found myself walking home from the vicinity of downtown Montreal, enveloped by a greying night and a cooling breeze.
Last night was a pleasant stroll down Sherbrooke after having dragged Patrick with me to see the exhibition of Vuillard at le musée des beaux-arts. To have one's consciousness flooded by pure colour, to be lulled by the poetry and song in his brushstrokes; I would gratefully spend more hours in front of his paintings, if only to feel the vibrancy of life reverberate in me for the entire day afterwards.
Tonight was somewhat different; the evening began with a meeting with the very lovely Arnaud, moments where conversations spool their own thread, weaving their own fabric of existence. Then I made the mistake of trying to walk down Sainte-Catherine, conveniently forgetting that the Grand Prix takes place this weekend.
The street was so full of people, that I could perhaps have been in a Tokyo subway. Worse still, signs are up claiming "Best Pizza in Montreal!" or suchlike. Black and white chequered flags are everywhere, T-shirts boasting "Ferrari" are on dummies in the vitrines. Speeding cars don't make my blood rush, nor such public acceptance of what is essentially the extension of the male anatomy and of course, money, money, money. Quite the contrary — it makes my blood boil.
Just outside my apartment building, two men in a convertible were tailing a tall leggy blond, so intensely that they rolled through a red light. "Not even your number?" they asked. I could hear the sound of their saliva hitting the asphalt. "No sweetie, peace," purred the blond, and went on walking.
Another tenant was going up in the lift with me, and I commented, "Lots of people out tonight." She did not appear to speak much English but asked, after a pause, "You don't like it?"
"The Grand Prix?" I said.
"Yes."
"No, I don't."
"Because of the noise?"
The bell rang; the lift had reached her floor. This was going to take too long to explain, so I just said, "I just don't like the social aspect." and left it at that.
The city will be reeking of testosterone this coming weekend.
Posted by sniffles at June 12, 2003 10:33 PM