Julie Davis is a Star

An old European man named Dylan Kennedy always carried pepper around in the breast pocket of his plaid shirt. His shirt was blue, the pepper was black. He carried it because he loved sneezing, but more than that he loved when people would say ‘bless you’, ‘God bless you’, or ‘gesundheit’. You know, some say that the cumulative effect of eight consecutive sneezes could replicate the pleasure of having an orgasm. Poor Dylan’s record was a measly five.

“Achoo!” he said.

A Hispanic lady in a leopard printed top, walking her cat on the sidewalk turned her head. “Bless you.”.

Dylan smirked. “Thank you.”

The lady’s name was LaCienega Mincalola and she walked Mr. Mittens because her apartment was small and she wanted him to be in tip top shape for the upcoming pageant. As one would expect, Mr. Mittens was stalling.

LaCienega looked him stern in the eyes. “Maybe if you didn’t get into your giblets last night we wouldn’t have to walk so far.”

They walked past a store called Yoga Love.

Inside Yoga Love stood a middle-aged Caucasian cashier who was promoting his ideas to an unshaven customer about the healing properties of deep loving.

The cashier’s name was John, but he went by Mr. Love. He wore a loose shirt with flowers on it and a necklace composed of beads the size of wooden grapes. He preached to the rough man about clear quartz and how it will turn black if not properly maintained. The exhausted customer nodded, paid for a deck of cards, and left to go sell a boat. Mr. Love’s shift was up.

As he walked out the door, he encountered two bug-eyed white women, both named Heather, discussing who is crazier among them. Heather pointed out that she was on her fifth coffee of the day, while Heather attested that she was dating a ‘man-boy’ who loved to play Call of Duty on his phone as she made dinner for them in her apartment. Heather and Heather’s eyes popped in and out of their sockets while they laughed (and cried a little) about how ‘man-boys’ are indeed— the worst.

A homosexual couple was eavesdropping while holding each other’s hands and biting their own tongues. Neither of them had ever heard of the term ‘man-boy’ before and didn’t really understand what these women were arguing about, or if they were arguing at all.

Francisco had met Mohammad seven years earlier in his travels in Isfahan. He had cupped his lover’s hand over a bracelet before he left back to Canada (where he had a full-time job as a mechanic) and they vowed to meet again. The bracelet never left Mohammad’s wrist, and the romantic reunion took place just two weeks ago when Mohammad was finally granted full citizenship in Canada. Since then, they haven’t been able to keep their hands off each other, and have often cried at each other’s touch.

Just behind them were two heterosexual lads, one white and one Indigenous, screaming philosophy at one another at the tops of their lungs. Guy Manfield and his university friend Aditsan Bernard, both philosophy majors, argued about the existence of free will. Aditsan said he believed in both free will and not free will at the same time. Guy would shake his head vigorously, hit his fingers together and say “yes, yes, exactly” and then take the debate in the direction he wanted which was completely against free will. Guy screamed the words of Saul Smilansky and Jordan Peterson at his decent friend who nodded and sort of agreed.

An old Asian man dropped a jar of peanut butter at the young philosophers’ feet. Guy picked it up, smiled at the completely unaware old man, and handed it back to him feeling pretty good about his day. The old man didn’t look at him but nodded appreciatively and continued his grocery balancing act. He had purchased the peanut butter, along with some Wonder Bread and two Pepsis at a gas station nearby. Unlucky for him the store had run out of bags and he had already paid. He had asked the french non-binary cashier six times if he could have a bag, and was oblivious to how uncomfortable they became while repeating, “Il n’en reste plus monsieur.”

A four-year-old kid being pulled by his arm pointed at the old Asian man without pockets. His bisexual white mother was on the phone. “Yes honey, I see. Mommy sees.” She looked at the old man and mouthed “Hi” with her phone on her chest for a moment. The man didn’t like being pointed at, but the kid was cute enough to pull it off.

A transgender teenage boy passing by would never be able to confirm this however, because his eyes had been glued to his Samsung phone the whole time. He was somehow always aware of when people approached or when traffic lights changed. In some weird way he resembled an ancient Taoist wizard the way he slithered through the city like a blind snake.

Other teens walked beside him, although they went to different schools.

These three teens, white, black, black, looked like they had been crying. One of them would say something, and then another would reply “what?” a second later. They were on their way to buy snacks from a gas station while saliva licked the corners of their dry mouths.

A Haitian business woman in a power suit had no time for them. She zipped by them while powdering her face, eating a bagel, and talking on a bluetooth. She had a french accent, “Terry, Terry, Terry, I understand what you are saying, but it just won’t work for me. I’ve got to make this meeting, but I will talk to you as soon as I get out.” He said something back. “Okay, okay, you are the best, chow.” She reeked of Chanel perfume, but everyone around her agreed that it was a welcoming scent.

Despite her high speed, a pansexual man passed her in his attempt to catch the 249. He arrived at the stop out of breath, but the bus driver unfortunately missed him. He hung his head and blushed. There wasn’t a single soul on the sidewalk who didn’t feel his pain, except for a young man holding a Raymond Carver novel trying to make eye contact with pretty girls on bikes and just praying that one of them would hop off and say something like “I just love how effortless it is for him— how he could write about a house plant for a hundred pages and still make it interesting.”

Meanwhile, a young lesbian named Julie Davis had just woken up.

Julie had recently fallen in love, so she always felt incredibly guilty about making eye contact with strangers on sidewalks. She loved to see people smile and felt the easiest way to instigate that was by smiling at them.

But there were plenty of people who either didn’t want to be smiled at or wanted it too badly. Julie would often smile at old people and kids because they understood her intentions and it made her feel warm. But girls her age always appeared deeply afraid by her gaze and most boys would latch on and refuse to let go.

The last thing she wanted to do was intimidate someone or perhaps even worse, create false illusions in the minds of desperate people. She knew where her heart lied and figured that maybe sidewalks just weren’t a place for smiles.

Julie had actually just recently snoozed her alarm precisely fifteen times. The coffee she quaffed back hardly did its job and she felt like shit, but at least she smelled like fabric softener.

She believed that a nice relaxing mid-afternoon walk to start the day could certainly take the edge off. She plugged her headphones in, ‘Hotel California’ started playing, and she was on her way.

There was an incredible heat penetrating from the sky, making Julie feel like a sweaty egg.

She noticed a lady with black bangs, and bags under her eyes crossing the road. The lady’s face was dry and cracked and her eyes looked like they had been left at home.

Julie, who was currently riding the dark desert highway, tried to send the woman some telepathic condolences but only managed to mouth “I’m so sorry for your loss” as she passed.

Even with her headphones in, Julie could hear a girl behind her talking to her phone.

“What’s up Youtube? I’m here today to raise awareness for something very near and dear to my heart— homelessness. I’ll be arriving at Tim’s in uno momento where I’ll be seeing how many homeless people’s days I can make for $30.”

Julie found this girl’s voice obnoxious, but could tell she was young, and at least she was doing something nice, Julie thought.

Cool wind in her hair.

Many homeless people were out and about. Julie watched an old lady with one ripped sleeve and a pacifier in her mouth scramble in the confines of a purse that she was pouring on the sidewalk like it was some sort of pinata. Julie wondered what she was looking for.

A homeless man held an empty Tim Hortons cup in Julie’s face. “Spare change?”

Julie took one earphone out. “I’m sorry I don’t have any money.”

She had made sure not to leave the house with cash in her wallet because she knew she’d be guilted into losing it within minutes even though she couldn’t afford it.

He followed behind her. “Anything at all? Just trying to get some soup.”

She didn’t hear him. The new song was ‘Cigarette Daydreams’.

“Just a bowl of soup,” he said.

She kept walking, still oblivious and enjoying the build-up of the song. The traffic light changed while she was mid-step and she lost no momentum. The man with the Tim's cup continued his pursuit. Some part of him really believed she had money. People around them started noticing this awkward little chase.

“Anything you have will do ma’am,” he said.

No reaction. The song had its grip on her. A home-owning man who had just missed the 249 was concerned she was in danger and considered this to be more important than the next bus.

Another man, wearing a wooden beaded necklace and a flowery shirt didn’t find it concerning but did find young Julie quite interesting. He followed along too.

Another traffic light changed from an orange hand to a white stick person just as Julie was in mid-stride. Once again, no momentum was lost.

She walked at a steady pace to the beat of the music. The woman with a pacifier in her mouth joined in the chase, thinking the man with the cup knew something she didn’t. They both imagined Julie turning around with twenty dollar bills in her hands. More people started joining in, curious about the commotion.

Two men, not understanding what was going on, with hands in each other’s back pockets tagged along in curiosity. A man who couldn’t stop sneezing saw this as the perfect moment to gain a lot of “bless yous” all at once and quickly rushed over. A girl with a Youtube channel had a similar idea, seeing it as the perfect time to abandon her desire to improve homeless people’s days and instead maybe get a little attention on social media.

An old Asian man balancing peanut butter and Pepsi thought maybe one of them would have a bag he could use. A child pointed the mob out to his mother who was still on her phone. “Yes honey. I see. Mommy always sees,” but all she saw was people in her way.

Two young philosophers found the scene fascinating and couldn’t abandon the opportunity for experience. A lady walking her cat didn’t want to tire out poor Mr. Mittens but couldn’t avert her old green eyes.

This person, Julie Davis, was really drawing a crowd. Not only that, but she hardly seemed to notice or care— at all.

Once she had passed through her thirteenth consecutive intersection seamlessly, it became that everyone in her vicinity was desperate to know what on earth she had had for lunch.

The song on her MP3 had changed to ‘Let’s Get It On’ by Marvin Gaye, but it didn’t matter— zero momentum was going to be lost.

A business woman in a power suit who had just been stood up for a meeting at a coffee shop looked out the window and turned off her bluetooth. She was accustomed to seeing rallies in the city — there were at least eight marches that happened every Saturday alone — but this was much different — everyone was clearly following this one girl who had no visible desire to be followed.

A boy in this march, who just loved supporting causes, finally noticed who exactly he was following. She was magnificent. Elegant. Quirky. Her hair was a fiery luscious red. Not only that, but she allowed the wind to take it. Her outfit was eccentric; she wore bell-bottoms with a lovely eastern print, a pale blue tank top, and an earthy shoulder bag. He wondered if she was familiar with any of Raymond Carver's works.

All of the sudden, Julie Davis halted. And the mob did the same.

Julie entered a gas station. There were three teenagers speaking in slow motion, debating what they should buy. Without hesitation, Julie grabbed a bag of sweet chili heat Doritos and tossed it on the counter. The teens nodded and ended up doing the same.

Julie had firmly believed that the city was empty because of the dense heat. She had hardly seen anyone on her walk thus far. She had walked into the store without a soul in her way— so when she ambled out to find at least eighty people in front of her, holding their breaths, she had almost been knocked off her feet.

Wow. Must be coming from a party or something. Not that they’d want me to come. Julie laughed out loud and gave a handful of them an awkward smile. “Sorry, mind if I squeeze by ya? Just gotta get through here.”

The mob quickly split to let her through, making her resemble Moses in many ways, except hotter— way, way hotter.

You see, the sweet chili heat of the Doritos on Julie’s tongue and lips had combined with the weight of the sun’s blistering rays which had combined with the energy of the song ‘Let’s Get It On’ by Marvin Gaye which had combined with the heat in Julie’s heart from her newly found love which had combined with her wonderful fiery hair which had combined with the level of desperation found in the crowd’s collective gathering which had of course combined with young Julie’s burning momentum — to create a world record — that according to a handful of scientists including the Giovanni Eddington himself should never be broken because theoretically, it should have never happened in the first place.

It was on a forty degree day in August at 2:13 pm on Sherbrooke Street in 2017 that Julie Annabelle Davis had become the single hottest thing to ever stand on planet earth — Julie Davis had reached the estimated temperature of a star.