Gonna eat my banana, gonna be alright

“Oh Lordy! Oh Lord, what is dis? Dis is COOOLD!”

The lady in the seat across from me grins and pipes up, “It’s Edmonton, buddy! Get used to it!”

“Oh no, no, no. Gonna eat my banana, it’s gonna be alright. I’m vegetarian, you know. A bad vegetarian. I like to smoke.” Huge smile.

Snickers from the spectators. The same lady comments, “You’re going to need to smoke. This is just the beginning. And you’re going to need a better coat, a warmer one.”

The tall, lean Rastafarian struts up the train aisle, caressing his thin, gold jacket. “Have you seen ma coat? Ya can’t do any beddah than this! Dis is all I need! Dis will keep me warm!”

“Poor choice, buddy. You need a coat like this,” she says, pointing to a young boy whose face is just barely visible through the hood of his full-out parka.

A male voice further down the train shouts, “Think of this as summer!”

“Summa?! No, no, no. Dis is no summa. I’m gonna go back to Jamaica, and there’s gonna be a band playin’.” His hips start to move back and forth as his words become song. “Pray for me! Pray for me, Edmonton! Pray I’ll get back to Jamaica, chill out, smoke a big spliff.”

Giggles.

He turns to a red-faced blonde behind him. Asks where her people are from. Her voice doesn’t boom across the train car like his. She’s embarrassed by the attention he’s brought on her corner of the train. She tells him she’s Ukrainian.

“PIEROGIES!" He shouts. "Maybe those will keep me warm!”

More giggles. Shock from the poor, embarrassed blonde.

He notes her embarrassment and points to a spot barely visible through the fogged up windows. “See dat? Dat’s da spot I could see from ma window at da Remand Centre!” He goes on a rant about how he’s sick of injustice. Sick of lies and distrust. Sick of the evil and the badness in the world.

“I’m gonna eat my banana, gonna be alright. Right now, I’m gonna go dance!” He slides off the train at Churchill station, moving his hips and singing a song to his own Rastafarian beat.