Risk

Change of Scene

They each paid their bills, Martin worrying about how much he had spent and the impact it would have on his weekly budget. He shouldn't have had that second beer. He could get a six-pack for less than he paid for the two in the restaurant. Daylight robbery. Then they walked out to the street, crossing over York Street on their way to Union Station. They put their tokens in the box and pushed through the turnstile and Martin wondered if people were looking at them as if they were an odd pair.

He wondered what they would talk about on the long train ride. Hadn’t they already used up all their conversation at dinner? He tried to think of other good things to talk about on the way down the escalator, which was operating smoothly. If the escalator wasn’t moving, he always took the stairs. The Toronto Transit Commission has an excellent safety record, but 75% of all accidents on escalators occurred while they were stopped, just because people took that first stutter step getting on, he guessed. His company was on the liability file for a couple of years and he had monitored the account.

“Did you know that 75% of all accidents on escalators happen when they aren’t moving?” said Martin when they reached the bottom. George said he didn’t and Martin explained some of the background, at which he looked faintly interested.

They got on a train after a few minutes of waiting, and took seats perpendicular to each other. Looked around at the various posters and advertisements. A crazy man in a grimy sweater and work pants got on at Wellesley and stood in the middle of the car. He was looking straight up, snapping his fingers high in the air, first one direction, then another, and proclaiming in a loud guttural voice, “Never take it from me, never take it from me. Fuckers! Never take it from me,” as if performing some bizarre spell or incantation. Then he lowered his arms and walked away, down towards the other end of the car, nodding and muttering to himself, “That’s right, that’s right, that’s right…”

George looked at Martin and then laughed.

“Now do you think that’s the end of a conversation with a person he met an hour ago, or the beginning of a conversation with someone he hasn’t met yet?”

“It’s an ongoing conversation with himself.”

“At least he’s got someone to talk to.”

“Yeah.”

The rattling and squealing of the train not being conducive to conversation, they mostly rode in silence the rest of the way to Finch station. Martin tried to read the subway ads to occupy his mind.