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epitome of incomprehensibility
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Me yesterday, taking a photo of a street sign in Kingston: The Tragically Hip Way. I am from The Comically Inept Way, subway-sandwiched between Panic Lane and Distraction Alley. Oh, all right, I'm not from the metro area, just the bird streets on the wrong side of the tracks in Dorval, Quebec. The suburbanly seedy.
Cede your place to the boy who stands between the H and P of "The Hip" in front of the Slush Puppie arena. (Slush Puppie? Imagine the Bell Centre were the Sloche Centre, branded with a name of dyed crushed sugary ice.) But their brand is famouser, and the boy whose father was taking a picture was happy to be the I in THE HIP.
Eyes everwhere, like Ezekiel's cherubim, the click-happy tourists. Some plug in their cars on the seedy side of the parking lot where the seeds are pebbles, and continue to Arden where the stars are freckles. We are all one, all eyes, blinking more or less annoyingly. Click.
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