You Don't Live Like I Do

This afternoon I was over by Manchester University after an appointment. The streets are bustling with Fresher's Week students, and I was sat on a bench in the sunshine enjoying a mushroom burrito.

A lady asks if she can sit next to me in an accent not unlike cosmolinguist so I ask her where she's from. She's Canadian, from Toronto, and she's waiting for her daughter who's just started Uni. We get to talking about all sorts of things while she waits, about life in Manchester, about crime (she's a prosecutor, and so is her husband).

We talk about the recent race riots in the city centre and how I ended up escorting queers and foreigners to their respective destinations when our bus was cancelled. How there were more of us at Trans Pride than there were fascists. About how you can spot the good "foreign" restaurants by the ethnicity of the diners, and how big city life differs from growing up in the countryside.

It was a delightful way to spend time, and when her daughter arrived I got to wish her well in her studies before heading home.