In the bank line a man was holding a tiny black and brown chihuahua that looked like a miniscule Doberman. It was wearing a bright orange rain jacket and when set down on the ground it delicately avoided puddles of melted slush.
At the A&W a young security guard entered with a homeless guy and bought him a coffee and a sandwich and listened to him tell his story, occasionally patting him on the shoulder with a patient grin. It didn't matter that the guy was drunk and a little loud in his ramblings, he was cold and needed a cuppa joe.
On the bus I saw a woman I knew from the SCA I hadn't talked to years. I complemented her on her picture in a recent Province article. I didn't want to bring up the fact that it was also a result of that article that I learned her husband had passed away three years earlier. He was a cool guy who taught me sword fighting techniques ("Always root your heel to the ground!"), who played chess with me once ("damn you're a kamikaze player aren't you?") and told great stories to everyone during lulls in court events ("Now here's a story about a bunny and a duck!"). I was irked that none of my old household buds told me about it so I could attend the service but I wasn't about to mention it, so instead I smiled and told her how great it was to see her again. And it was.
At the Zellers a woman saw my basket full of yarn skeins and we got into a lengthy conversation about scarves and the right colours for different relatives.
On X-Box live I got my ass kicked in F.E.A.R.
That was my day.