Noticed

A chronology of frozen moments wrapped around my conscience.

I notice the unending stream of student passengers shuffling through the doors. There is trouble: too many are caught in the enclosure, bottlenecked, between the arts building doors and the doors to the outside world. People look out longingly and look in drearily. Avoiding the chaos I take the quiet ones on the side, to the left. No one ever thinks to use the perfectly functional three other doors around them - people wait their turn patiently or impatiently, and squeeze by gracefully. Apologise when necessary. Stranded on the stairs is a girl reading On The Road. I smile at her but she is submerged with zen. I look back, transfixed, to the nebulous mass of chattering wavering bodies, that multiply and shrink and fill up again if I stare long enough.

I notice the unending stream of little children file endlessly down the street, around the corner, and presumably into infinity or at least until nap time. I have never seen so many little ones all at once. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, but probably not. They are from a preschool in the area, on a preschool trip to bask in the sidewalk sun. They are out for a walk. A walking carnival of coats of every colour, some have locked hands, some are out of order, forming groups and ranks of their own. There is a teacher every so often, to maintain peace and good conduct among the rabble. They are happening. A kaleidoscopic horde of munchkin. They speak their own language, yelps and hoots and cries, frenzied distractions of the world.

I notice the unending stream of jovial twentythirtysomethings with black shirts and bad haircuts enter the coffee shop, formerly known as empty. There was peace, once, in this land. The Trident was packed, so we tried the place next door. It was perfect - quiet, doowop and soul on the radio, bright with light, and deserted. Minutes later, we discover that we have stumbled upon the testing ground of a geek fantasy world. They are a rambunctious bunch, each cradling the same box. Tension fills the air as they await the hour of redemption. There is no authority, and every single table has filled. Enough! They devour the cardboard all at once, empty the contents (beautifully crafted miniature metallic creatures) and with unabashed glee brag about whose statue has better statistics. More and more keep filing in, one by one. I can't believe this. Someone unravels a poster and fastens it to the wall: "Dungeons and Dragons Miniatures - Deathknell Prerelease Event" I am in their domain, but they don't seem to notice.