february 14, 2026
late upload! field notes from a passenger (princess) #2
To think my not-so-far ancestors discovered ice, discovered it! Amber-beaded and beautiful, thunderstruck at its blue-white burn (that strange combination of polarity and deceit). Another reminder that they were alive, too, that time needn’t circle us like hounds. From Las Geel and Gibiley to Dundas-West (Line 2, ya Rabb, how far did we fall?) — and outside of the station, a painful reminder that Black History Month is a jester’s trick: hearing “nigga” loose in the wild, uncensored, a cosmic joke; two non-niggas with dreads dapping each other up in Cantonese, more at home than I could ever be.
Across the street, the traffic cones flex their muscles in lieu of lights. Peacocking. Lime-green. They’re languid like cats and whistle like dogs. If I had a vehicle of my own, they’d be pulled pork on the street, but I refuse to assimilate (not even a G1?) so I swallow my fist like teeth: cross the road when commanded, beckoned by a fascist mitt (who said chivalry is dead?); refuse to nod back when porky chastises a driver in my honour. Convince myself inaction is revolutionary too.