the Bloor line

At Victoria Park a man in a grey
winter coat is ascending the
subway escalator. He has a
grocery bag full of gasoline at his
face. At Matt Cohen Square an elderly
Chinese couple feed a dog that is
dressed in baby's clothes, the dog
is sitting in a pram. Youre not
going to say anything else, are you.
A young guy sits with a
man in his fifties who is carrying
a thermos of alcohol. He nudges
him. Youre going to shut up, arent
you, or you get off at the next
stop. The young man resumes his
old seat. There's an Asian woman
in her fifties between them. It's
rush hour, crammed full. Then the
guy must say something because the
youngster is on him. He's smaller
than the man but he lifts him by
the neck and hauls him out the
opening subway doors and launches
him at the floor. The man's legs are
still in the subway train. There's a
moment when he's like a patient on
a table. But he suddenly sobers up,
pulls in his knees and swivels
on his back and stands, laughing as
the doors close and the train accelerates.
The young man is shaken, embarrassed,
he whips through the pages of a magazine.
He looks like he works with paper in a
warehouse. A minute goes by, then the
Asian woman leans over and says something
and she is saying thank you.