Climbing the stairs from the subway left me winded. “You’re really out of shape you fat fuck,” I muttered to myself as I stopped to catch my breath, but the pain only started when I’d walked a block and turned the corner onto Simcoe Street, south toward the convention centre.
It was a new kind of pain. Since turning 50 there seemed to be some fresh variety of pain revealed annually, and I tried to play it down by telling myself I’d add it to the list. This was different, though – a steely sharpness that started in my chest and blossomed up through my shoulders to my neck and jaw.
I was on my way to a trade show for photographers and video makers in the big room on the north side of the convention centre where they hold the auto show every year. The same place where I’d lined up in the shadow of the CN Tower for the first dose of the COVID vaccine, joining the rest of the city eager to get back to normal life and a day like today – minus the chest pains.
NB: The author knew Kathy before I did.
