Tubby

My ex-wife started a new life with the tubby postman.

At a corner convenience store before midnight, I pick up a cold bottled green tea and a cream cheese pastry. At the counter is a lady vendor that I have seen before. She is wearing a pandemic mask. I ask, "Where are you from?" "Ethiopia," she answers. "Wow, that's why you don't look East Indian. The rest in this store are all East Indians. How long have you been in Canada?" "I've been here since January," she says. It is the 24th of October of 2021. I add, "You speak good English." "I went to an English school there in Ethiopia," she explains. "You speak English well," I reiterate. "Thank you!" she exclaims happily. Outside the store, on the other side of the street, is Mike the lonely old tubby Turk waiting at the bus stop. I see him often at that store.

On the sunny 29th of October of 2021, I had my usual medium-sized iced green tea at the local cafe on Lulu Island. At the counter, Max the Chinese said that she was going to dye her hair purple once it has grown a bit. It was blue before she had cut it. Through the window, I could see that fresh teenagers were already celebrating Halloween with fancy costumes. At another table sat two Filipino men, one thinner in black and the other handsome and tubby in blue.

Grace bent to her oars with a springing verve and force which made the tubby little boat draw towards the shore, the whispering lapse of water gliding under its sides all the while.

The clerk vanished, to be replaced a minute later by a tubby Indian with exhausted, visionary eyes.

a tubby violin