You don’t like to drink anything other than water. The world of chai lattes and gin and tonics does not know how to introduce itself to you. How do you say hello to anybody without asking them what they’re drinking. You would have it figured out if you thought about it enough, but your head is filled with questions that nobody is asking:
What are the names of the Portuguese immigrants who built the CN Towerr?
Where does the light come from in all of the Vermeer paintings?
Who decides which artwork goes on the postage stamps?
You hold onto poles in subway compartments not because you can’t balance but because you like to forget about your hands and how they are not doing anything. Your father’s are carrying a briefcase and your lover’s are holding yours, so what does that leave for you? You keep pebbles in all your coat pockets because you haven’t been able to answer that question.
They make the announcement over the speaker system that they’re closing the doors. They remind you that you can sign your books out self-serve style now that people behind desks are growing obsolete. No need to slide your library card over the counter any longer, and no woman behind it telling you that you are too young to read Kafka at 13 as a result. Some ambitious girl you’ve got to look at when you turn your head over your shoulder. Yet here she is wearing size 7 shoes and not even able to name enough things she knows without a doubt to match that number.