We round a corner of the street on a family joke. I'm smiling a big 'life is wonderful' smile, and I nearly collide with a man wearing a dark grey suit and black starring eyes. I connect to his eyes and fall into a pit of fear and hatred. His gaze whips my head to the side, severing our connection.
A microsecond later, my daughter cries in disgust; the man spit on her and my back in passing. We stop and assess the situation. Trying to come to terms with what just happened. I regret that eye contact.
A policeman comes towards us, and another civilian comes up from behind, in the direction the man who spit on us was walking. The guy shouts to the policeman, "He pulled out two knives. He just reached into his bag and took out these two motherfuxxing knives!" The policeman asks, "Was he dressed in grey?" The guy confirms this. The policeman says they have everything in control. So the guy escorts us for some time up the road as we continue our way, mumbling the whole time, "two motherfuxxing knives."
I am not quite sure what to think. An hour later, and still numb.
(Written during our trip to Montreal in August.)
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