lock us in a cannery with your accordian
thunderstorms- albeit late- roll across ottawa with surprising intensity, drowing the city in a deluge of water that catches bits of premature leaves turned brown and red by the slowly shifting sun. secure in my stolen- no, wait- LIBERATED- yellow slicker, i watch downtown as people crawl out of the woodwork to stand in bus shelters and overhanging entrances to escape the vertical flood.
i can't help but laugh at the frosh who are out for a night on the town. especially the girls- soaked to the skin in barely-there clothes, makeup running down their faces in a most astonishing array of colours.
i think i'm getting old.