Old men jaywalked across Broadway because of the sidewalk construction. Canes click clack. Ester couldn't even get her mom to jaywalk. An old man waved down a taxi, and then walked away. Maybe he waved goodbye to friends across the street. In any case, it put the confused cabbie out for twenty-seconds, until he pulled back into traffic and roared away. The billboard above the bus-stop was an ad for Coors Light, "Colder than people from Toronto" it said. Ester laughed. Her December breath was visible. The bus was taking too long. C'est la vie. Vancouver transit was getting better, they said. Screw it, she'd walk. It was only twenty-five minutes to huff up the hill. Maybe she ought to hail a cab. Punctuality is a virtue, and one she didn't want to start slacking off on. Bridal showers were special days, at least it was a special day for Liz. And Maybe Ester and the bride weren't as close as they used to be. But Ester could still make use of the special day. Taking taxis, receiving packages in the mail, and getting your hair washed at the salon, all made for a special day.

At the corner, waiting for the light to change, two 20-something women were having a fake argument. A pseudo passive-aggressive expression of their appreciation for each others' capacity to use faux sarcasm to mask that at the bottom of their hearts they meant the words they were saying, and sarcasm was their vehicle of warning.

What a hot crock-pot of spitting talk. Why was communication so complex these days? Words layered like hair. Blame the internet, they say. She crossed the street. tweet tweet tweet. A kid walked the curb like a tightrope. Ah, to have such a mind.

Looking west up 12th, the street opened up like a tunnel. A cab passed by, but she didn't hail it.