Dark-grey

He was well but quietly dressed in a dark-grey suit.

He was well but quietly dressed in a dark-grey suit, and carried a brown wide-awake in his hand.

Having woken up late, in the afternoon of the 4th of February of 2022, I was drinking my iced black tea at the cafe, and I saw a handsome dark-haired boy in a dark-grey tracksuit. Later, at the pizzeria, I asked the name of the muscular Sri Lankan owner, who was sitting there; his name is Tharsan.

On the 26th of February of 2022, I tried to keep my day simple. Before dawn, at the corner convenience store, I drank a cold canned Thai tea drink and ate a pizza submarine sandwich. In the chilly, grey-sky morning, I headed to the cafe, whilst I practiced meditatively by scribbling Japanese Kana glyphs on my hand with a finger. I drank iced black tea at the cafe, whilst the typical early-morning clients were there, a Caucasian and an Oriental. A robust man in a black, red, and white jacket and dark-grey rugby pants entered to get coffee and exited, as he talked on his smartphone. Homebound, I took the long route across the vast green school field, seemingly an Animist-Buddhist experience of being on a different planet, the northern snowcapped bluish mountains being visible beyond.

In the morning of the 27th of February of 2022, on my way out of my Lulu Island house, I saw my neighbours the redhead Rochelle of Russian-Mennonite ancestry and the grey-haired moustached Al from the Anglophone section of Montreal; he was from many generations of Canadians. He said that he did not know French, when he lived in Montreal. I ate a slice of pesto cheese pizza at the pizzeria. The vendor was from Mumbai. Through the window, I could see a young brown-blond-haired man in a dark-grey hooded jacket and blue shorts, which made him look like a "big boy." At the cafe, there was an under-age-30 crowd of ten outside, of whom one looked like a handsome Jew. Inside was a table of five or six over-age-30 people, of whom one was a handsome tomboy in a dark-green jacket and army-green pants. I drank my iced black tea. Heading out of the cafe, I saw the "big boy" smoking in the wooded park. I took the long route home, through the grassy school field littered with goose poop, the northern snowcapped mountains obscured by clouds, an Animistic-Buddhistic view seemingly of a different planet. Near my house, parked in a truck were Olivia and Daniel. Olivia was studying Biochemistry. In the back seat of the truck was a fully black German Shepherd.

Beneath her mist of yellow hair her dark-grey eyes looked out pathetically, with the sort of pathos that means nothing in particular—the grace of an indefinite sorrow.