my stolen hat

He stumbled onto the street as I left the library. "Excuse me, but do you have a smoke?". I didn't, but he turned to my left and kept talking anyway. "Are you a student here?" "Yes. Are you?" "No, I just came back from covering the Toronto Film Festival for my paper, I'm stuck outside waiting for my friend to open his apartment."

We talked quickly about celebrities and writing about them, I turned to go. "Would you like to have a coffee?" Not one to turn down conversation with strange men, I agreed. We wandered across the street where he asked me to get him a cup of water while he went to the bathroom. I got the water, i got my tea.. and looked around. I found him stumbling out of the women's bathroom.

"Which seat would you like?" I asked, "The red or the beige?" He didn't answer, so I took the red.

We talked until 2:30 a.m. C--, his name, worked for the Gotham Gazette. Lived in New York. He was 44 years old, but only looked 30 ("I stopped aging then"). He had messy glasses and an amish-style outfit which was ripped. I offered to clean his glasses. He refused, then mentioned how he always goes out with something a little wrong, just for comfort. He wore long shoes without socks, and kept mentioning that he wanted to scratch his feet-- "It's better than sex."

He hadn't had sex for seven years.

He had wanted to go to McGill, but had been contacted by his birth father at the age of 17, when he went to live with him and learn from him. He then travelled Europe and Asia, learning how to write stories. His father had died quite recently, at the age of 102 (he said 103 later), but his elderly mother still lived in Kansas on a farm.

He had beat up a homeless man that day. "I've been feeling like I need to beat up people today. People who I feel are pretending. People who are fake." "Maybe that's a good thing. A basic and natural reaction." "There was a homeless guy downtown, he was practicing Ninjitsu on passersby. Leaning forward aggressively. I warned him twice-- 'no ninjitsu'-- but he didn't listen. So I beat him up."

He hadn't eaten all day, and was craving lucky charms.

We discussed movies, our futures, writing, Montreal. He told me and then wrote down five things one must eliminate from one's thoughts in order to be enlightened: food, sex, sleep, doubt, and guilt. I quickly wrote down: death, love, loneliness. "That's depressing," he said. "I suppose so," I said, realising I thought about them all the time. We argued as to whether love and sex were the same thing. He said they were.

"Why did you take the red seat?" he asked. "I like red." We switched. he kept looking at how I crossed my legs.

He told me the reason he had stayed to talk was because I had turned to his left-hand side when we first met. "Why did you do that?". I didn't know. "The left hand side is more open," he replied, "See, cross your legs left over right. Doesn't the energy flow better?" "You're the first person I've spoken to since I got here. Well, except for 18 year old boys. I was supposed to meet one to play an online shooter game, but he never showed up."

He said if he had the choice, he would be an 18 year old boy.

Finally, after the Barrista had removed our glasses with a glance to go, we left. It was cold outside, and I offered him my pink hat. I'd walk him to Sherbrooke but we had to part ways after that, I was going west and he was going east. We passed the Ritz-Carleton. He had to go to the bathroom, we went inside. Nicest smelling hotel I've ever been in-- like flowers and clean linen. the bathrooms were supremely decorated, with perfectly folded towels to be used after washing your hands. He used the men's this time, although I saw him seriously consider the women's.

Outside, his legs started to "spasm". I offered to call him a cab, two came, but each time he shooed them away, stretching his legs as he did it. "This always happens. I have pills for this." I had to go, I apologized, but it was time to leave. His shins were tight, he said. I reached down to test the tightness, and he flexed. It occurred to me that he might have been lying.
It was now almost three and I started to go, walking him along. "Where's the café we were just at?" I gave him directions and started to say goodbye. "Thanks for the convers..." but he had already turned down the street, walking away, with my pink hat.

Oct. 30, 2006