wildcat

There's something weird about that intersection at Johnson and Douglas. I sat in the ghetto coffee shop and stared out the corner window at the intersection and the light was funny, early morning strange, and for all the sketch there's this electric buzz about. I don't think I've ever hidden the fact that Johnson is my favourite street in the city - all the comic shops are on it, bunch of second-hand book shops and vegan Chinese food and other curiousities, and the street itself plummets down onto a big bridge on one end and rises up - snake-like - to merge with Pandora and become something else. Even when there's gobbed up spit on the pavement and cigarette butts and broken glass, or that weird bus stop in front of the comic shops that doesn't seem like it should be a bus stop, all those weird alley ways and artificial alley ways with stores down them. Buzz.

I'm jazzed up with ideas for the story and its ongoing rewriting, editing, revising, restructuring. Basically I wrote a thing not unlike a seed and now it's about making the thing germinate. Rahab remains my favourite character and with her there I can start to flesh out the others.

Vague rumblings of travel plans, down the road. India, Japan - to see the wayward children. Or to be wayward children, whichever. Nothing firm, beyond that trip over to Vancouver in a few weeks to take in the art gallery and remind ourselves that yes, there's a planet outside the island.