My ideal Saturday afternoon involves hibernating at a bookstore, my humble abode, and reading. Yesterday, before meeting a friend, I ventured to Chapters, picked up Murakami’s Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage, sat in a quiet corner on the second floor, and read my afternoon away. Before I was aware of it, by the time I had to leave, I was already 136 pages into the book.
I’ve been meaning to see N ever since she stepped foot into the city for school, but due to work and volunteering, I couldn’t muster the time and energy to do it. So seeing her yesterday was sweet. We took a stroll in the ByWard Market, had brunch at Cacao 70, attended Nuit Blanche and witnessed the cool works of art, and tried steamed buns from Gonfu bao, a cart that I’ve been virtually stalking and meaning to try.
It wasn’t surprising that we ended up back at Chapters later that night, given it’s our second home. Despite feeling fatigued, we were still able to carry a stimulating discussion about doctoral theses and lab experiments, and the ethical issues with which they’re associated. We both purchased Murakami too. Sometimes I feel as if we’re an awkward, old couple. Like PB&J or Humpty Dumpty.
toumemoir 