Last night, a messenger and a duffle strapped to my back, I walked home from union station in the rain.
5.5 hours on a train from Ottawa to Toronto, I was tired of sitting, tired of waiting. The rain was almost warm, and I was debating the decision; do I walk or wait or try to find a cab at 11:45 on a Sunday.
Otis, from Watch The Throne, came on my headphones. Anything other than walking, exulting, moving beyond the rain, wasn’t a possibility anymore.
An anthem of excess as achievement, and somehow it was the perfect thing to listen to as I walked home, soaking in rainwater, in the least glamorous way possible. It was just a moment where everything was enjoyable, and nothing was as bad as people would try to make it seem.
I arrived home utterly drenched. Smile on my face. Having done nothing but enjoy myself as my sneakers got waterlogged, as the rain soaked through my shirt and shorts, and as the duffle bag filled with black tshirts and denim got heavy with moisture.
It makes it easier, easier to bear.
Nothing like travel to remind you that some people wear way, way too much fragrance. *dry heave*