sitting here on the train i see a man sliding his tongue in and out of his mouth, drifting in and out of sleep and i feel glimmer of nostalgia for 12 years ago-theatre school silliness. it all comes so simply now and it all falls to habit before i know it. i can be anyone and it isn’t even a challenge anymore. suddenly famous and inconsolable in boredom. the man, i want to grab him by the tongue and pull him into my hotel room and examine every inch of his skin; to take him into me and learn a new way of being this silly chameleon.

i don’t, of course. people would care and it would be in the paper. the national paper. “canadian sweetheart defiles stranger on the train”. i’m too old to a “sweetheart” but my hair colour has stood the test of pollution and my late 30s.

the train clicks into my station a moment later and i realise i never miss this place. “canada’s sweetheart comes home!”. how devastating. he gets off too and i follow him for a moment: up the escalator and the stairs and out into the harsh, cold sunlight. people recognize me and i want to reach my hand into his back pocket. i follow him for a block and stop, i pretend to look for something in my purse and turn around. i blow him a quiet kiss goodbye and head back toward my “homecoming”. i miss the pollution of elsewhere and wish i still smoked.