metro_green_line epitome of incomprehensibility At the bottom of the stairs, my glasses crash to the floor and a girl with a backpack picks them up, even though I don't want her to. It takes half of forever to find the zipper on my backpack and get my card out. I worry that the person in the booth will think I'm a troublemaker or helpless. A helpless troublemaker. The floor pattern of Lionel-Groulx station: as if the petals from Ezra Pound's black bough fell down as round tiles. Were preserved, cartoonified. Shades of yellow, orange, and red. On the way back from Concordia, I decide to walk to Lionel-Groulx instead of crawling back underground. The wind is colder than the sun is reassuring. I quit halfway. Atwater station. "Salaam alaikum, madame," says the woman holding out a cup for coins. Today I'm not giving back; today I'm retreating into my tiredness. 220223 what's it to you? who go blather from