Avertissement

On Sherbrooke West, I saw the bleach-haired absentee jaywalk and rush to L’Appartement Hôtel, speaking on the phone in angry German. I waved at her, and crossed the street. She was confused, then panicked. She whispered something in Cantonese, and hung up as I approached. 

“We missed you today. What happened?”

“Something came up,” she said in an unfamiliar accent, and bowed. “Apologies. Another time.”

I watched her hurry inside, wondering what got into her, and went back to my un et demi.