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and yet I did nothing

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

On a stretch of Queen Street East I saw some unhappy things this morning. The first, at the corner of Church and Queen, was 30-something brute with a shaven scalp, a track suit, and a blue tear tattoo by his eye menacing a young woman who was holding her arms around her defensively and shaking. She looked scared. Neither were dressed like they'd expected to be outdoors. I suppose he was her "employer".

Half a block west, I watched a guy steal a bike. Late thirties, sunglasses, unshaven, hoodie under a beaten up coat. Another streetcar passenger and I exchanged surprised looks as the fellow tore off the flimsy cable-style lock and discarded it. He even did the slow look around to see if anyone had noticed before he toddled off on the undersized bike.