TPK Diaries #3 – Walking
by MW Cook
It started with an innocent remark. Of course, the case could be made that most evils are born out of an innocent remark. An off-handed comment, not designed to actually mean anything.
“Let’s go to the India Bazaar!” Matt jumped out of his seat, carried by his own excitement. The girls looked at him as he wandered around the living room looking for his satchel.
“Now?” Hillary asked.
“Of course! Let’s go! What else are we doing today?”
Ruth shrugged. “We should finish cleaning up this mess.” She pointed at Matt’s entire library lying on the bed and the piles of ornaments and papers on the kitchen floor, casualties in the war to re-arrange the apartment.
“Oh,” Matt said with a wave of the hand. “We’ll only be there for an hour or two. We need to try that Pani Puri Hilsy keeps talking about. Go go go!”
Ten minutes later and Matt, Ruth, Hillary and the two kid were jammed into the Plymouth Neon. They parked near the western end of the India Bazaar on Gerrard Street, right under a parking sign.
It was a good outing. The Pani Puri was excellent. As was the Lahori Chaat. Ruth picked up a pretty dress and Hillary bought some wooden spoons. Matt considered buying incense named after the venerable Sai Baba, but eventually decided to go with Sandal wood instead.
An hour or two later, and they were ready to go home. HIllary had a meeting with a friend scheduled and Matt and Ruth were supposed to see Shawn. So they walked back to where the car was.
“Dude, where’s my car?” Matt later wished he had said. In truth, he said nothing as he stared at the parking spot.
“Isn’t that where you parked?” Hillary asked. Matt still said nothing. Twiched a little.
After grilling a few shopkeepers and making a few phone calls they found out where the car was and even copied down the directions form Google. It looked fun:
It was supposed to take only an hour and ten minutes. But with tired children and coffee breaks it was closer to three hours. Night was falling as they crossed the final bridge to the secluded car lot. $150 later they were back in the car, almost dead. The dead feeling increased just a little when Matt found the $60 parking ticket on the windshield.
The drive home was exhilarating, really. To go so fast with so little effort was like a new feeling all over again.
It was a shame that at home, instead of a soft, fluffy bed waiting, they found an apartment covered in books and scattered knickknacks. It was well past midnight by the time Matt and Ruth slept.
Way to fun in this crazy town!
This is second-hand unless you’re reading it at http://www.theilliteratescribe.com
Matt W Cook 