I sit in the 19th floor elevator lobby alone. There are two chairs here and the backs shun the panoramic view of Ottawa’s unseasonably cold night. Midnight is sneaking up on the lobby from the east and I have a liter of beer that’s worth at least two. The beer was brewed not far from here.
The elevator rings randomly but, so far, the doors have remained shut. Sometimes I enjoy writing in a public space. The thought that someone may chance by gives me a sudden sense of urgency and I forgot what I was going to say.
On the plane ride to Ottawa, the man sitting next to me flipped through about five pictures of a motorcycle for about an hour. It was a colorful cruiser sort of motorcycle. The handlebars and forks raked back at a lazy 45 degrees. A tiny teardrop of a tank sat on top of a mass of black and grey metal which was the engine. The chrome and slightly trumpeted tail pipe shone out in front of an oversize chocolate doughnut of a back wheel. I wouldn't buy such a cartoonishly designed bike, but I can’t say that is was unattractive.
It was in good condition, I think. I could only sneak a good peak now and again because I didn't want to give away how interested I was in what my neighbor was doing during his flight. Nevertheless, interested I was. I wasn't at first, but I had noticed that he was cycling through a small set of pictures of the same object for a while.
What interested me was not so much that he was looking at a motorcycle, but that he was looking at the same four or five pictures of the same thing over and over. What could he possibly be thinking about this bike? Is it a bike he was considering purchasing or selling? Was the bike stolen from him? Did he total the bike on a road trip? I could hardly focus on reading my own book, a pre-flight impulse buy, because of his obsession.
It’s midnight, Friday morning, and two people have now walked by my writers outpost in the 18th floor elevator lobby of the Quality Hotel at Rideau and King Edward in downtown Ottawa. I've now decided to call this the 18th floor even though it’s labelled 19. Sorry about that. The 13th floor doesn't exist, so this is really just the 18th floor. Either way, It is still the top floor of the building and the view behind me is nice.
I didn't talk to the guy with the pictures of the motorcycle at all. Well, maybe a word or two about the logistics of our proximity, but that was it. I mostly just read my book and noticed things about him as he existed so locally to me for about two hours. The motorcycle did cause some introspection, but I’ll leave that story for another time.
I like the feeling of the elevator lobby on the 18th floor (named 19) of the Quality Hotel in downtown Ottawa. It feels comfy in this chair with my back to the intersection of Rideau and King Edward 18 metric stories below. Rideau is all torn up down there from road construction.
The security guard just told me that I needed a cup for my beer or he’d take it from me. I went and got one.
Such is life.
