Continuing from the post from earlier today, entitled '-Mini Post #4', I decided to leave the house coat-less. For some reason my warm-looking coat is completely useless, so useless that I left with only a sweater today. Usually I wear a sweater with a coat on top and still feel very cold. Today was only slightly worse, the omission of said coat caused minimal detriment. That coat also happens to magnetize cat hair... It practically vacuums it off of them... Stupid useless coat...
So I journeyed forward, seeking out patches of sunlight at every chance. Halfway down to Gerrard, I crossed over the celestial barrier and continued down Logan. I made my shifty appearance at Gerrard Square's EBGames, loitering on the outskirts as I received my coveted Suicune. I then packed away my pink DS and scuttled away into the darkness. Seconds later, I reversed my path and waltzed invisibly through the food court toward Subway, camouflaging myself in the unsuspecting old people. Shortly after reaching my destination, my dignified spot in line was butted. Piteously I watched as a six-inch sandwich was stuffed empty with meat, cheese and sub sauce. Then, I took my turn, believing things might turn out for the better. A foot-long Cold Cut Combo with extra lettuce, extra tomatoes, everything else and topped with salt, pepper and mayonnaise was ordered. A strong sandwich, but still lacking much-needed power. I watched in horror as my beautiful foot-long was abused and mishandled in her hands, white sauce dripping all over the place. Yes, the mayonnaise was everywhere. My sandwich was ruined. I paid for my meal, took a seat disdainfully close to the rampant old codgers, and ate my sandwich. Discombobulated awesomeness it was.
After such a horrible, life-changing event, I arrived at the Riverdale Library. Little did I know the horrors that lay ahead. I took out Silverwing and Firewing, having greatly enjoyed Sunwing. I used the washroom, which smelt of death, and found a place to sit near a dead old Chinese man. I gazed out the glass wall, then took out my long-lost poetry book/journal from high school; Dark red and hard-covered, with a pretty silver ribbon as a built-in bookmark. I began writing a promising new poem about the coalition of man's creations and nature; the interdependence of Reason and ambivalence of the world; the futility of dividing the world into black and white. The old man coughed. Okay fine, he wasn't dead, but he looked it. The first few minutes of writing went smoothly.
And then the teens came.
They wouldn't shut up.
They were only the half of it. Not a second went by without the moaning and shrieking of lungs being coughed up. Well, people were coughing, with emphasis on 'cough'. And 'ing'. People were KOFFING! I waited and waited, and coughing evolved into wheezing. There was this old lady who kept circling around the library, occasionally passing behind my chair, and every time she passed behind me, there was a familiar shriek, followed by a pleasant mist at my neck.
Then came the last straw. A French dude. Well, he looked French, and he was wearing a burret. Yes, a burret. His posture was abnormally emphasized, especially when he walked, like standing before an imaginary urinal. He sat in the chair to the left of me and opened up a big book of paintings with a big picture and a little text on each page. I glanced over and noticed a big picture of an egg plant. The guy started leaning his head side to side, and I continued on with my little poem. "Mmmmmm", he hummed. ... About twenty seconds later, it came again. "Mmmmhmmmm...hmmmm.... ... ...Hmmm!" ... "Hmmmmm-"
"OH NO YOU DI ' NT!!!!!1"
I left the library.
You know, in my day, libraries were quiet, and didn't have French painter dudes from Paris in them..