Sunday morning malls..

Empty, Sunday morning malls must be the loneliest place on earth…

That’s the thought that resonates through my head as I sit outside of my workplace alone, locked out because for once I did the responsible thing and woke up on time. From where I’m sitting, I can see cars passing with every second on the freeway- eager Sunday whorshippers, or proletariats making it out to a long day of work. But they seem so far away…

I’m reminded of the quirky lady I randomly bumped into at the bus stop on my way over here. What started as a pathetic attempt at saving her from the same fate I had just met with minutes earlier soon turned into a question of philosophy…

The lady, thankful because I had drawn her attention to the puddle of rum and coke she was about to sit in, began slowly unraveling her life’s little details (everything from her age to her occupation). She told me about what she perceived to be Toronto’s decline, and about her “friend’s” nickname for the city (“Shitty City… not that he’s one to talk, he looks and smells bad…”).  In her bright, coral pink lipsticked-lips she told that she was “a real Canadian”- of British and French origin- and that was why she was a Native sympathizer (not to mention that as a “pure-blooded Wiccan”, she could relate to their spirituality).

Anyway, the point is, this lady was so moved by something as insignificant as me pointing out a puddle that she felt she was able to reveal these facts.

Which somehow in my hungover, Sunday morning work commuting mind, translated into a question of whether human beings are inherently good…