I Am a Camera

Pure, unadulterated description. First thing I wrote for Fiction 226, and of course the prompt is courtesy of Alice LaPlante’s Method & Madness:

The halls of Central Station on rue de la Gauchetiere in Montreal. All around is the loud, incomprehensible babble of diners. A cashier leans over to a train passenger and repeats his order. A businessman talks on his cell phone as he pays at another cash register. A Maki roller at The Sushi Shop leans over the counter, squishy avocado pasted between her gloved fingers. She reaches for the tempura flakes. A stack of recipes falls behind the ingredient fridge. Wafting down the hall is the smell of coriander and curry from the Thai Express. The air tastes like Chinese food.  Pasta and pizza from the trattoria. A small, genderless child holds a genderless blue teddy bear, rubbing the soft fur against face, neck, arms, pushed by a haggard mother in pink sweatpants. A plump, not-quite-elderly black lady in a VIA uniform with a yellow neckerchief asks for Sriracha chili sauce, dear – the one with the rooster on the bottle. It costs fifty-seven cents. A cash register dings and shoots open. Raw throats tell customer after customer to enjoy their meal and have a good day, but first would they like a bag with that?

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