Things, including The Beatles, I met on my trip home

The record sleeve for disc 2, side 1 of The Beatles/1962-1966 is not something you see discarded on the street every day. But there it was this afternoon on the ground near the new arena on 104 Ave, looking like an open wound. I crouched down and looked without touching. I admit it. I felt a strange kind of reverence as my eyes drifted across Help to You've Got to Hide Your Love Away, We Can Work It Out, Day Tripper, Drive My Car, Norwegian Wood. I saw cigarette butts and dead leaves, and those lyrics. I turned it over, knowing what I would find. Yep, Nowhere Man, Michelle, In My Life, Girl, Paperback Writer, Eleanor Rigby, Yellow Submarine. I wondered about the ripped corner. Who ripped it? Did they write on it? What did they write? How did it get here? Where is the vinyl? I looked around. No clues. What do you do when you're holding the Red Album record sleeve as traffic streams by on 104 Ave? I have no training for this. I placed it back on that piece of earth. Like a plaque.

I saw other things on my walk down 104.

Above, I noticed an Oilers fan wearing his colours. Hall 4 outside Ford Hall. Now we know how many holes it takes...

Below, exhaust. A canister fumed as standstill traffic did, too. I'm so tired, I'm feeling so upset. Although I'm so tired...

MacEwan's stone and concrete and glass looked stunning. The tower puffed. Love is old, love is new.

Farther up, we ran into Sean and Louie. It's been a hard day's night...

I took the 2 home, and got off at 149 St and 89 Ave. My slinged left arm has turned my jacket sleeve into an airport wind sock.  I kept thinking about John and Paul's printed words on the ground. Where did they come from? Where will they go. It blows my mi-i-i-i-i-i-ind.


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