(no subject)
When I lived in Toronto, I used to walk down to the harbour a couple of nights a week to visit the 24-hour coffee store. I would buy a mulled cranberry thing, which is exclusive to Second Cup, I think, and then I would trace this long route beside the lake, past hotels, and restaurants, and docks. Eventually, I would come to this wide deserted dark stretch by a massive office complex, and pause, and turn back, under the scrutiny of the end-of-the-road security guard.
The lake had all sorts of strange - they must have been - tourist attractions, like musical rock gardens, and nature sanctuaries that had become nothing more than dirty concrete cavities with faded pictures of blue herons. There was this big metal globe that I particularly liked, because you could go inside and make echoes, while the lake water splattered around below your feet. The chief attraction for me, however, was the ducks. Ducks are companionable, and when you’re lonely, this is the sort of thing you have to figure out. Ducks are companionable, whereas squirrels are not (especially the balding Toronto squirrels), nor are pigeons.
I would make my way back as the pubs hit closing time, and people would stream out onto the main streets with me, like some kind of creepy homeward escort. All of us would line up for hotdogs at King and Spadina, because walking is hungry work, and so is getting sloshed.
Sometimes I got back late enough that the Italian bakery would just be opening, and then I would walk a little further, and buy a loaf of potato bread. Mostly I just went straight home, and was asleep before I crossed the threshold of my apartment.
The lake had all sorts of strange - they must have been - tourist attractions, like musical rock gardens, and nature sanctuaries that had become nothing more than dirty concrete cavities with faded pictures of blue herons. There was this big metal globe that I particularly liked, because you could go inside and make echoes, while the lake water splattered around below your feet. The chief attraction for me, however, was the ducks. Ducks are companionable, and when you’re lonely, this is the sort of thing you have to figure out. Ducks are companionable, whereas squirrels are not (especially the balding Toronto squirrels), nor are pigeons.
I would make my way back as the pubs hit closing time, and people would stream out onto the main streets with me, like some kind of creepy homeward escort. All of us would line up for hotdogs at King and Spadina, because walking is hungry work, and so is getting sloshed.
Sometimes I got back late enough that the Italian bakery would just be opening, and then I would walk a little further, and buy a loaf of potato bread. Mostly I just went straight home, and was asleep before I crossed the threshold of my apartment.