Toronto Transit

Reworked from October 2002:

It was cold, waiting on the platform. I could see his breath. He sat down next to me, shivering, wearing only a thin sweater. "In Jamaica," he said smiling, "I could wear my cotton pants every day, cut just below the knee. Here, my lips chap and my eyes tear." Waiting for the train in the frozen winter, he remembered his past. He shared it with me, a complete stranger, rocking back and forth, cupping his hands together, trying to find warmth in this "sinful cold country."