Something peculiar happened to me Thursday morning, or perhaps Wednesday morning. I had just finished filling up my three water bottles at the fountain by the Welcome Desk, a routine habit at this point. As I walked back down the hallway, inching closer to the doors of the chapel, I happened upon an old man waiting by the elevator. I automatically greeted him with a “good morning,” but then my mind stopped with a message of doubt, a bodily doubt that asked, “wait, is it actually morning?” that recalled all those virtual meetings and conferences where one always wishes a good morning, afternoon, and evening, because people are not in the same space, people chance upon different borders. I had seen the light of day, I had carefully arranged my curtains. But that morning, I knew not the real morning, so long ago it was.

*

Today I decided to bike along Bloor. I wanted to visit Soundscapes, which I learned the previous night was the place to be for CDs. I thought maybe they would have LÉON’s new album. I knew I’d likely buy a CD anyways. I made a quick stop by She Said Boom! first, which I realized I had already visited one night in November, which I will not speak about further, given how my chest is already tightening. They were playing loud, but cool music. I bought My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante. $10, friendly employee (it feels odd to call an old man an employee), telling me about the sparkle along the Harbourfront during his biking commute in this blessed weather. I arrived to Soundscapes and could not believe all the CDs. I looked through many sections carefully and settled on Adrianne Lenker’s songs + instrumentals. $22. Around the time I was settling but was still debating over Kate Bush’s The Kick Inside, I heard the employee (again, an old man) speaking with another old man, about how he would love to see Trump assassinated, to see his head explode on live TV, how terrible unspeakable demonic he was. I arrived at the counter, cashed out in an appropriate time.