The Spill

This morning, a thin old man came out of the Dollarama. He’d hung bags on his walker, at least five or six of them, and halfway across the car park, one of them burst. He’d bought mostly canned goods, and they rolled across the tarmac. Some of them went under cars. The old man went after them. He left his walker behind, and the wind slowly blew it away.

I’m not a monster. I’d have helped. It’s just, I was all the way upstairs, and my wheelchair gets stuck on the carpet. The hall’s really long. By the time I got down there, oh….

I sat and watched.

Anyway, this guy’s walker, it wasn’t some Potemkin-style flight, y’know, with the baby carriage on the stairs. It just drifted an inch or two and knocked into a pole. It was one of those modern walkers with the wheels and the sling seat, not the old tennis-ball sort you see in geriatric wards.

So this guy, he got down on the ground and swept his leg under the cars till he’d got all his cans out. He distributed them amongst his other bags and hobbled on. He left the burst sack on the ground, and it blew away.

I think there’s an old folks’ home here. I see lots of grey heads go by, mostly to the Dollarama, or round for some billiards. They all have that same sort of walker, all in bright red. Maybe they get that when they move in, a walker, some denture cream—welcome to Verdant Acres. Here’s your old fart kit.

That was about half past nine, the old man dropped his beans. I’d been working since five. Sometimes, the words flow. Today, it was whey from a stone, and I was sitting on my balcony, wishing something interesting would happen. Nothing usually does, but you never know. One time, some guy showed up with a banana in a crotch-holster. Another time, two dogs had a tail-chasing contest, and they both bonked into cars. Then, there are the crows. They’re usually up to something. But today, it was just that old man, which is why you’re hearing about him now.

Maybe tomorrow, something better will happen.