My feet land, one after the other, on the pavement, light impacts send shock waves through my tired knees. Sun shines. Getting hot in this leather jacket. Feeling cool in my shades. Aware of myself, curious if I look cool or if people notice me.
I walk by a restaurant. Sushi, Japanese, ethnic. Simple, clean food. Vancouver food.
It was the first place of my transgression. Where I sacrificed the rules for the people and myself. Leave the rules for the rabbis and the insecure.
Onwards. Up the hill. I pass a comic book store. A breakfast place. The type of place you go hung over with a girl. Where you share that awkward look over scrambled eggs and scrambled memories of the night before.
Into the magazine shop. ‘Does your mother know?’ That’s the name. No, she doesn’t know. Glossy colours, air brushed breasts, smiles frozen in print. Nothing catches my eye. Manufactured beauty. To arouse is easy, just show some skin, but to be interesting requires that you hide things; that’s a lot harder.
A plain white cover, on the bottom shelf. I touch it, pick it up. Brail. A magazine for the blind. Ironic and beautiful, I think. It’s a collection of 72 colourless photos. Not black and white. Colourless.
I flip, starting at the back. My imagination fills the blanks. Colours splash on the palette of my mind. This is blindness. The world of pure imagination. No distractions.
One more block. I look at the mountains. Bold, strong. Capped with snow. Reminds me of my grandfather’s white hair. Wisdom. I stare, amazed. No thoughts. Empty. I am inspired. This is seeing.
Intriguing and well-written. More, svp.