Stranger

I thought no one who was actually from Vancouver talked to strangers. I was proven wrong by the woman today who asked me aren't my feet cold?

No, my feet aren't the least bit cold. They're even a little sweaty. I didn't mention the sweat.

She talked to me about the strange way people dress these days. She really is more from Vancouver than anyone I've met. She's been here since 1939. The first time she was ever hugged by anyone (she's parentless) was by her sister at what is now the sea-bus station. To her, this is the most comfortable place she could be. She was born in 1924 in Regina. She buys day-old bread and always has and has never thought to heat it up a bit in the oven, like I said I sometimes do. She said she might try that. Her friend who she's known for many years has a bakery on East Hastings. He takes the day-old bread away from her when she brings it to the counter and replaces it for the freshest loaves and only makes her pay the price of day-olds. She doesn't like Cobbs' bread. She asks me if I'm staying here and I say that I am staying here for two years. The sound of "two years" is ringing in my ears. I am going to school, I say. She asks me what I study and I say literature and she says she only went to grade seven and doesn't know that big smart word. I say I study books and she's okay with that, I think.

I would like to hang out with her.
Do you think she reads missed connections?