Michael Lavers
Driving away from the Calgary 7-Eleven
where I spent an entire seven minutes filling my blue
Buick with gasoline, I imagined that my exit went
unnoticed but (let’s face it) because of the generous
smile I give the cashier and countless glimpses of my
eyes in the rear-view, the minute I drive away,
a million people to my back, I feel understandably
quite handsome and believe there must be at least
a dozen families who have to stop buttering their
toast because they feel such an indescribable lack
of blonde hair in my general direction, and are wondering
who just left so fast and so in the middle of breakfast.