again on the way back. She sees me but doesn't recognise me, both times. I
overhear snatches of her conversation, "-- competing next weekend in a
black-belt competition -- oh, man, I can't *believe* what a pain in the ass my
boss was today -- want another drink --" and it's her voice, her tones, but
somehow, it doesn't seem like *her*.

It feels melancholy and strange, being a ghost. I find myself leaving the bar,
and walking off towards Yonge Street, to the Eatons-Walmart store where Tony the
Tiger worked.

And fuck me if I don't pass him on the street out front, looking burned and
buzzed and broke, panning for pennies. He's looking down, directly addressing
people's knees as they pass him, "spare-change-spare-change-spare-change."

I stand in front of him until he looks up. He's got an ugly scar running over
his eyebrow, and he looks right through me. *Where you been, Tony?* I want to
ask it, can't. I'm a ghost. I give him a quarter. He doesn't notice.

#

I run into Stude the Dude and hatch my plan at Tilly the horse's funeral. I read
the obit in the Globe, with a pict of the two of them. They buried her at Mount
Pleasant Cemetery, with McKenzie King and Timothy Eaton and Lester Pearson.
Stude can afford it. The squib said that he was going aboard the mothaship the
day after the ceremony.

Lots of people are doing that. Now that we're members of the Confederation,
we've got passports that'll take us to *wild* places. The streets get emptier
every day. It's hard to avoid Dad's face.

Stude scares the shit out of me with his eulogy. *It's all in Process-speak*. It
is positively, fricken eerie.

"My Life-Companion goes into the ground today."

There's a long pause while he stares into the big hole and the out-sized coffin.

"My Daily Road has taken me far from the Points of Excellence, and I feel like
my life has been a Barrier to Joy for myself and for many others. But Tilly was
a Special Someone, a Lightning Rod for Happiness, and her presence graced me
with the Vision of Joy."

And so on.

I wait near the back until Stude finishes, then follow at a discreet distance as
he makes his way back to his place. It's not something I ever would have
considered doing last Hallowe'en -- the Stude I knew would've spotted a tail in
hot second. But now the world has gone to jargon-slinging harmony and I'm brazen
as I ride along behind on my bike, down Yonge to Front, and up to a new building
made of foam.

I feel li