Rating Toronto Pizza Chains

Pizza! Now that I have your attention, lets talk about this delicious, magical thing. Despite the versatility of pizza as both a meal and/or snack, there are lots of ways to make a wicked pie and even more ways to screw one up. I'm no stranger to the dough, cheese and sauce Triforce, and as such I'd like to share my thoughts on some of my favourite (and much less fun, my least favourite) pizza joints I've encountered here in the city of Toronto. Starting with... the major-ish pizza chains available here in T.O.

First off, my admittedly flimsy criteria. For the purposes of this article, I'm more interested in comparing specific big money pizza chains against each other in a ring of judgemental fire, rather than including spots in Toronto that have multiple locations but are relatively independently owned and maybe provide much more of a "sit down" dining experience and product. This is why I'm not including prominent spots like Pizzeria Libretto or North of Brooklyn in this piece. Instead I will save my thoughts on those particular spots and many others for another article coming soon (!) in the near future.

As for my grading system and what I'm looking for: firstly I'm not grading on a curve. The grades are A through F and based comparatively against the highest ranked pizza I've ever had (which spoiler! not on this list). What I'm looking for is overall quality in taste, ingredients, toppings, leftovers value, and entries also gain/lose points on nostalgia, personal experiences, unique aspects of their brand and potentially just plain old cheapness.

Now without further delay! Here in 2018, are my Toronto pizza chain rankings.

Blaze Pizza ~ (B--)

A relative newcomer as a Toronto pizza option, Blaze is a California based chain that advertises itself as Chipotle Mexican Grill meets pizza: a rapid fire pie that is still made to order and has tons of ingredient options and combinations. Heck, even LeBron James is involved as a promoter/investor. 

The concept itself you have to admit is a clever one: offer a flat rate for a one-size pie and allow hungry customers to choose their own sauce and toppings without (mostly) additional charge. It's not quite Kramer's idea for a pizza joint where you make your own pie (cucumbers???) but it's about as close as you can get without getting unqualified people sticking their hands into a 900 degree oven. Add in the fact that these pies are ready to go usually in under five minutes and you've got that sweet spot between fast food and spontaneous freshness.

The pie itself (the reason I'm writing this after all) is light, fluffy and tasty, a good balance of cheese and sauce (plus get more or less of either if you please). It's super thin, thus allowing the faster cook time, with a modest crust consistent in texture with the dough. As a result it will noticeably bubble,  where you get an occasional air pocket in the middle of your slice (a disadvantage to a thin pizza cooked super fast), by far Blaze's biggest weakness as a product. Plus as a thin pizza, with air pockets potentially inside, you go for take-out it's gonna get cold fast. 

There is reheat value though (if you don't overnuke it) and meanwhile the toppings aren't your run-of-the-mill greasy spot on the corner options. They've got some goods (mini meatballs? roasted garlic cloves? giddy up). They also offer arugula as a topping and have the good sense to tell you they put it on after the pizza has already cooked (because lets be real, lots of well meaning pizza slingers can make that mistake).

Overall, as far as taste goes it is basically equal or just slightly above the next entry on my list, but the current uniqueness of their operation and the wide range of topping options gives them the bump. Blaze is my highest ranked Toronto pizza chain here in 2018.


Pizza Nova ~ (C++)

So I'll get this off my box here right away: I'm a bit of a Nova fan boy. I've had conversations with various folks over the years (cooks even) whom prefer Pizza Pizza over Pizza Nova, which personally strikes me as a committable offense.

Now sure, a problem you get with a chain with dozens of locations like Nova is that some are for whatever reason not up to snuff (see my comments about Pizzaville later). And that's totally fair. However, to complete that Pizza Pizza/Pizza Nova argument, I propose that a bad Nova is the exception, while a good Pizza Pizza is likewise an exception. I've had disappointing pies at both, but Nova does not disappoint as a method of operation. 

As for the pizza itself, it's the little things I like. Affordable? Yes sir (their 1 topping walk-in special is an undersold steal and definite go-to for me). The sauce has big bits of soft tomato, the crust is often firm but crisp and not overly chewy, their bacon option is actual bacon strips (not crumble) and they don't need to put a ton of cheese on in a vain attempt to deceive you it's good. Also, it's not stupid greasy and reheats really really well if you're willing to use the oven. Overall, it's a no-brain option if it's late at night and your alternative is Popeye's chicken that's been sitting under a lamp for seven hours. Bonus points for their garlic option, as when you order it as a topping you get big chunks of oily, soft roasted garlic all over your pizza. It's magic, baby.


Pizzaiolo ~ (C) 

Five years ago this would have been probably a solid B or B-. But for some reason, as seemingly almost every downtown corner here in Toronto opened up a location, the quality of their slice has noticeably slid. There's a certain taste in the dough you get, a kind of olive oil wheaty texture, that is consistent with all of their pizzas and I guess I don't much care for it. On top of that, they are a bit one dimensional in terms of what to go for. Their whole pizzas are pricey (compared with other options) and rather unimpressive in both size and taste. Slices are their main appeal.

Not to slag on them endlessly, there are some very good qualities with Pizzaiolo. Their slice options are creative and diverse (though unchanged over the years), they like Nova use bacon strips instead of crumble, and a single slice is both affordable and satisfying. The crust isn't anything special but the quality of their toppings is solid, they use good sauce and utilize multiple kinds of cheese very well on their offerings. For nostalgia's sake, the location at Jane and Bloor was once a popular stop for me after baseball games, as well as the Yonge/Bloor location when I was inbetween afternoon classes at U of T. Many a good pie was had there and then.

Overall, my complaints are that they haven't really evolved since sprouting so many (so many!) damn locations, the quality of the product has slipped and their full pizzas are not worth the cost or the time. Otherwise it's an entirely acceptable choice.
 

Mamma's Pizza ~ (C)

Another nostalgia story: the first time I tried Mamma's I was probably in my early teens, maybe a bit younger. I went to the location near the Toronto Reference Library (still there I'm certain), had a pepperoni slice and was convinced for a significant period afterwards that this was my favourite pizza of all time, and thus THE best pizza anywhere.

I no longer think that (shocker) and I doubt Mamma's would even make my Toronto Top 20 list if I were to write such a thing (spoiler). But, they'll do you decent. It's oily as hell though (and it loses points for being aggressively so at times) and so razor thin that a solitary slice isn't likely to kill those hunger beasts. As such it holds a unique place among Toronto pizza chains, in that it thrives for that more "gourmet thin crust" avenue than the others. Certainly imperfect, yeah, but good within that imperfection.

Another funny story. I had a shift at noon this past New Years Day and had no change for the streetcar. The closest spot was the Mamma's location in the Beaches, so I popped in for a slice (obviously fresh at 11am) and was told by the fella behind the counter that I was the very first customer of the year. By unrelated chance I haven't been back since, but I really want to pop in again around maybe 11:55pm on December 31st and bookend the story.

Papa John's ~ (C-)

This is where it starts getting tough. Having American fast food chains up here in Canada ain't anything new, and if anything there are a few more I wouldn't mind seeing establish a presence (cough cough In-N-Out). 

American pizza chains are not quite that, since I strongly think that a lot of them flat out suck. Not American pizza per say (because a lot is @#%$&*#@ good), but a lot of their pizza resto chain imports are really damned unimpressive. Papa John's isn't exactly an exception, just that it has a "best of the rest" quality to it. There's an appealing softness on each bite, the crust is gently oily and they don't skimp on the cheese. But it's nothing special. The tomato sauce is generic and sparse, the toppings are generic and blandly delivered, and it's the type of pie that's already slightly overcooked when you get it so the reheat value is minimal.

(Speaking of minimal reheat value, a consistent trend you get with pizza of lesser quality is just that. As such I'd like to introduce the First Bite Rule. Think for a moment: you're hungry, and here's a pizza, any pizza, fresh steaming out of the oven and the cheese is gooey, stretching in strands as you lift up that first slice for the first bite. Honestly, the majority of pizza is at least good in that initial moment. It takes some impressive blandness/awfulness to disappoint there. And some are up to the challenge).

Pizzaville ~ (C--)

My thoughts on Pizzaville have fluctuated wildly over the years, and at this point are probably the lowest they've ever been. The location (now long gone) at Yonge and Dundonald was a gem of a discovery for me in my high school days: a cheap good slice with a great crust and lots of cheese and authentic sauce (bits of soft tomato and everything!). 

But for whatever reason, not every location possesses the same level of quality that my long lost high school one did. I grabbed one of their pickup specials recently and while tasty at first, the overload of bland "cheese" sent my stomach barking at me. The sauce level is also not as generous as before, with a tomato bit here/there almost just for show, the crust quickly stale, and the whole ordeal left an experience of having eaten pizza at it's most competently generic. They promote a variety of interesting toppings and execute them on the pizza in a similarly generic fashion, giving an initial excitement that fades after the first few bites. This grade would be much lower if not for those previous pleasant experiences nearly a decade ago, making me suspect this ranking has only one direction to go.

Domino's ~ (D+)

Credit where it's due: their walk-in special is damn cheap. A small pie for under five or six bucks (depending on the location) is a steal of a deal. And the pie itself will be filling. But man, of all the pizzas I've ever had in my life Domino's is the one you gotta eat all of within like twenty minutes. Once it goes cold, it's over my friends. Even a toaster oven can't save it. Maybe it's the big, thick crust, or the equally monstrous layer of solid, cheesey cheese designed to taste like Cheese(TM), but it doesn't reheat even slightly well. You're more likely to burn it and still have cold cheese in the middle, than to recapture its best, freshest moment.

The rest is what you expect. Sauce for the sake of sauce, insert-a-topping here. You know the game.
  

Pizza Hut ~ (D+)

This will probably piss off some folks, because I know some of you love this stuff. Sure, but again the First Bite Rule is in raging effect. Similar to Domino's, but even more drastic: EAT THIS MOF FAST SON! Because once it goes cold, it's over. Unlike Domino's, which is too thick and bready to reheat properly, Hut is way too damn greasy. You microwave it or oven it, and you're heating pure grease everytime. It could be steaming like crazy, too hot to eat, yet the middle is lukewarm at best. And then all the oil is cooked, the pizza tastes weird and bland, and it still goes cold in two minutes.

As for the pizza itself, it's about as good as a cheesy, thick greasy pizza with barely any sauce can be. It has a certain taste (the grease I figure) that makes it unique among the other offerings on this list, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it at birthday parties when I was a kid. People clearly love it and I'm not saying that's bad or anything; like what you like to eat. Me personally, I just don't think it's particularly good pizza. In almost any way.

Panago ~ (D)

You know those mini pizzas that are sold in the frozen food section? Sized like an old CD-ROM, they usually come in packs of two or four, the flavours either cheese, pepperoni, deluxe, and the instructions say to bake them in the oven but they're perfectly fine (extra gooey in fact) if you zap them in the microwave? That's Panago.

But enough of me revisiting Grade Eight, this pizza has a lot not going for it. First, it's way too damn expensive for what you're getting! Seven bucks for a "personal" size pie that's smaller than most of the slices on this list. If by personal you mean "I'm personally offended at the size of this thing", then yeah, that's accurate. Second, the overcook problem. I don't mind some spots of cheese on my pizza that are a little more crispy or well done than others, it adds flavour and character. But this whole thing is covered in those brown blotches, leaving a thin burnt layer your teeth have to chomp through on each bite. And third, did I mention the size/price ratio? 

It's not all completely bad. The dough is oily sweet, the sauce surprisingly flavourful (if mass produced) and... um... they're a Canadian company? Overall, it's a weird combination of Domino's and Pizza Hut, mixing the strengths and weaknesses of those two pies into this weird hybrid. Overcooked cheese of Dom's, the oozing of oil/grease of Hut. But it's not as good as either of those because even when it's fresh, the cheese doesn't string off each slice because it's already done to a crisp. Plus.... seven bucks? Come on. 
 
Amato ~ (D)

  
This one is a personal vendetta of mine. In terms of style, Amato is very much a poor man's version of Pizzaiolo. They feature some interesting slice options (more so than the remaining entries on the list), their hours appeal to those hungry night travelers in need of some sustenance to combat the beer blues, and it's cheap. 

One of my complaints about Pizzaiolo was how their dough/crust has this weird oily, wheaty taste that catches up to you after about halfway. Amato has a similar effect on me, except that feeling isn't taste driven, it's biologically driven. On three separate occasions (completely sober, as a disclaimer) an Amato slice has made me extremely sick, and their product has not stayed in my body particularly long. On that alone they should be much further down my list, but on taste alone it's entirely "meh". Greasy, uninteresting, a stiff crust and seriously lacking in sauce. I'm not a fan at all, and it blows my mind a friend of mine in the west end prefers a nearby Amato over even more nearby King Slice. Lord help us all.

Pizza Pizza ~ (D-)

Ah.... hello old nemesis.... I'm going to enjoy this...

A friend and I have argued that some Pizza Pizza locations are significantly better than others. As the dreadful Beaches outpost has taught me, that is surely true. But Pizza Pizza at its best, it's complete absolute best! Is merely OK. Most of the time, it's a damn cardboard disc with cheap cheese and sauce haphazardly dumped on top. There is nothing they offer that even approaches above average: the pepperoni is flavourless, the cheese and sauce there really just for show, the crust barely edible without that garlic dip (okay, that stuff is dangerously above average) and the prices (beyond a random medium pep special) aren't even reasonable considering the quality consistently on display. If you're desperate, I get it. I've been there. I've eaten way too many of their chewy, hollow panzerottos and hated the universe every time. But we grow, we evolve. We can move on.

Two tales to tell here. First, I ate Pizza Pizza almost everyday for about two months back in 2006. I was 19, working on Queen West and at the time there were legitimately no other options around there. I tried everything on the menu, gradually resenting it and myself more and more on each occasion. Everything I ate tasted exactly the same, every single time, like I was trapped in a time loop. Every slice, each chicken wing, the same amount of cheese, sauce, the same portions of everything, all that same flavour. I had to escape, I had to break free somehow ------

Second tale, is really just go down to the States and ask someone if they've ever had a Pizza Pizza pizza. Or don't. They don't need or deserve the free advertising.

Little Caesar's ~ (D--)

Good god. I tried it once back in 2011 and probably should again (at least for the purpose of this article), but man I really, really don't want to. It was BAD, folks. Real bad. 

Some people say that bad pizza is like bad sex, that even when it sucks it's still good. To those people I feel the upmost sorriness for, because clearly not only is your sex life bad, but you're eating shitty pizza on top of that? Brutal.

The main problem I remember when I tried it was how assertively generic it tasted. Lots of bad pizza will try to hide behind huge amounts of cheese or sauce, with varying results. Caesar's doesn't even go for that. Instead it's not much cheese, not much sauce, and barely anything else either. I mentioned earlier how Blaze is trying to combine fast food with a good pizza experience and we'll see how that plays out over time. This here is the case of how it goes horribly, horribly wrong. Their "Hot N' Ready" special is the nadir of a pizza waiting for you as you walk in. I honestly couldn't even finish it, I was so appalled by how offensively bland it was. But it gets worse...

2-4-1 Pizza ~ (F)

Life is too short, people. Get a couple extra bucks and get something that doesn't taste like Groundskeeper Willie's retirement grease. 



(all photos found via Google Search, I do not own or claim to own any of them.)


 

Again, Darkness Rises

When you feel
that sadness coming on
A blanket of blankness
and you know what it is
So you think it through,
think it tough
Confront how pointless it is
that its timing is meaningless
Detail how it has strangled
the twinkle in your eye
within a very last breath
But the darkness strengthens anyway
until you're again
completely smothered in its shit
And you think this time
you weren't good enough
vigilant enough or determined enough
And maybe you think
you'll never be good enough

Caught Lookin'

Look this way
Look that way
Look another way
Something is happening
When you're looking the other way

Look this way
Look that way
Look another way
Close your eyes
You still see what they tell you to see

Empty Wallets

Fighting feelings
the deck is shuffled
an empty wallet
the tables' prize
Loneliness gives
a fraction of
the amount it takes
or steals, depending on the day
Fighting facts
the deck is stacked
a full wallet
the unattainable prize
Loneliness grabs
a fraction of
the amount of confidence
needed to survive a day

Deepening The Divide

Doug Ford is the premier of Ontario, with a majority government. Let that sink in. Or if you're like me, don't let that sink in and drink several drinks to escape the inevitable instead.

But I'm not writing here to disagree with the politics of Mr. Ford (as much as I emphatically do), but rather to peek at what got us to this point. Not the point of his dumb luck bumbling his way to this high office, but the machinations that led enough of the electorate to actively propose this as a legitimate solution to their problems.

Politics has never been a game for the timid, nor for the one unwilling to get their hands a little dirty. It can turn allies into rivals, friends into betrayers, honest intentions into false hollowness. That's the nature of the game, the contest of ambition triumphant. But the players in the game have changed. In a very serious way, through the relatively recent prominence of social media, the electorate now have the larger, more sweeping voice than the politicians themselves.

Think about it for a moment. People running for office can only say so much behind a podium, on a televised debate, or repeat a platform message so much through sponsored social media. That's a very limited exposure compared to what we citizens post and share daily on those same social media outlets. A candidate can have a prominent social media presence, sure, and be sharp with all the latest methods of getting a message out there; but even with all that, it will shrink in comparison to what is shared among countless intersecting groups of people whose eyeballs constantly scroll screens everyday.

And the name of the game isn't just getting the message out there, it's manipulating a message for mass consumption.

The concept of 'Divide and Rule' (or 'Divide and Conquer') is a strategy that dates back thousands of years throughout human history, in conflicts upon every continent. It is an extremely effective strategy, likely why we still see a heavily modified version of it still used prominently in these times.

This is about the exchange of information between us consumers of content. See, the internet is very much a 'Wild West' in regards to information because unlike most of established print media or television media, there aren't factual standards to abide by. I myself am writing these very words on a forum which will be published by the internet for all to see potentially (ambitiously), and there are no standards of truth and misinformation to which I much follow before that availability can be made real.

Freedom of the press, online or otherwise, is a good thing because this is an opinion piece and I am not presenting this as news. And here's the problem: not all sources are as honourable and forthcoming about that as me (fucking right) and many indeed disguise political agendas or opinions as actual, factual, important news stories that your eyeballs need to absorb or digest. And if you dress a crooked mule with rotting teeth and a bad temper up with fancy clothes to make him look legitimate, some people will believe he's really a stallion.

This is really about manipulating and controlling the message. Political candidates can only reach us so much by the limited exposure they're capable of, but through other mediums or affiliated groups (Ontario Proud really reeks of this, but all sides of the political spectrum are guilty also) they can push agendas or attack opponents just by sheer presence of message. Many political parties have rightly surmised that on social media most people will tune out a message directly from them. But from an affiliate that with the right clothing seems to be independent? They might be more willing to at least listen, or perhaps even agree and share. And of course, those "affiliates" can write whatever they want in an effort to sway potential voters/supporters, in a way official party outlets simply cannot. Because for them there's nothing on the line, no serious reputation to maintain, little repercussion. The internet age.

The internet itself is not a wand of enlightenment nor is it a weapon of brutality, it is simply a tool. A tool we have created and has grown too quickly for us to understand or to know what to do with it. Like any tool, it can be used to construct or destruct and in the matter of politics it is hard to argue that its powers have not been of destruction.

Sullying the name of free speech: the internet has been intentionally used in this way to spread vague or untrue information with the singular intention of disrupting or influencing the ideas of others. And in that reality not only does it become so much more difficult to dilute truth from the murk of the swamp, but within that murk one untrue message can seem more true than others. Maybe so much more true that you dig your heels deeper, certain you've found the gem beneath the sludge. A real truth in this uncertain world of "fake news". And the more disagreement on this from friends or family, the greater the divide between us grows.

This is how extremism gains strength, with two sides of an issue breaking apart so much that they go in opposite parallel directions. The more they pull apart, the harder it becomes to bring it back close enough to actually have a reasonable discussion about issues. And this is what concerns me most: the discourse itself. Again, politics has never been a pretty business, but our disagreements should not be taken as personal attacks. Many politicians themselves who strongly disagree with one another can look past those differences of opinion and still be cordial with one another.

And maybe that's what the election of Trump and likewise Doug Ford tells us: a lot of people don't want that cordial discourse anymore. Someone who doesn't "play by the rules", a "man of action", an everyman who despite massive inherited wealth always wants to look out "for the little guy" without care of trampling established normality. Such extreme "virtues" of these figures only deepens that divide between us, to the point where you're either part of the team or an active opponent against it.

With increasingly extreme views it becomes nearly impossible to only partially agree, and toss in a smokescreen of questionable facts and easily disputed claims to an electorate mass-consuming social media, and an existing divide will only deepen.

Yesterday's Goodbye

When a day passes me by sometimes there's an eventual moment when, sitting within its spent uselessness, I notice something different. And so was such a moment late one wasted evening that like a jolt of electricity my mind was shocked from its typical murky distraction: I remembered Valerie was leaving.

We hadn't spoken much throughout the past several years. Too much history, awkwardness with her passing boyfriends, professional differences of schedule and a collapsing social circle. Even in our limited recent encounters we'd only addressed these pieces of baggage silently, a quiet wedge between a once thriving human connection. Now was the end of the final chapter: she was leaving forever. A fiance leading her across the ocean with the promise of a new love filled life.

I'm not sure why I suddenly thought of Valerie this particular night. I'd heard months earlier that she was splitting town and felt no reaction. But this night was different, as though the simple thought of her was the antidote to my poisonous doldrums. Maybe it was some form of time-delayed nostalgia, or the hand of reality finally gripping me where I still had feeling. The barricade of indifference I'd built around myself at last crumbled just enough for a faint light to sneak through. With pathetic difficulty I rose from my couch and fumbled around for my cell phone. I had to call her.

Through the ruins of our old friends group I confirmed Valerie's phone number was still the same, and then ignored the additional messages inquiring why I was asking. Manipulation was the easy part, the next obstacle was much harder. Like those moments you realize your days are passing you by, there are other moments you're aware that the day has now frozen. You stare at something, a task perhaps, knowing that your life cannot proceed until you make the active decision to either do this something or to never do it and move on. This was my moment staring at Valerie's number, slowly dialing it into my phone but unsure whether I'd actually begin the call. I could be stuck here forever, my life and its minimal progress halted by this impasse of questionable desire and unexplained fear. Fear emerged triumphant, as I sent the call and hated myself instantly.

One ring. Nothing.

Second ring. Nothing. Maybe I was off the hook.

Third ring. Good enough. Time to hang up and dodge this bullet foreve--

'Hello?'

Shit.

'Hello. Hello?'
'Hey.'
'Oh. Huh. How's it going?'
'Fine, fine. Sorry I guess this is pretty random.'
'Yuh-huh. Why are you calling?'
'Don't worry it's nothing weird. I know everything was a long time ago and you've moved on, I know you're leaving soon and well, I just wanted to wish you good luck out there. I guess I want to say, I'm happy for you.'
'Oh. Well, thank you. That's, that's nice of you to say.'
'Ah it's nothing. Right well I'll let you go, I don't wanna waste any more of your time.'
'Okay. I mean wait! Don't hang up yet. How've you been?'

The truth of my intense self-loathing was my instinctual response, a cheap ploy for pity disguised as sympathy. But if this were the last time we spoke, I could not close the curtains on that sour note. So I dug deep within myself for the tiniest bits of happiness and joy I could find. And when I heard Valerie laugh for the first time in seemingly centuries, even if for just a moment I was reborn as that person again.

Another Round At The Local Thirsty

Many people over the years have asked me the story of how I came about to work at The Local Thirsty, inquiries that I cheerfully deflect like a shuttlecock in a game of badminton. Rather, what interests me is how other folks first came into this sleepy little basement bar in the center of downtown.

One such tale quickly jumps into recollection. It was a few years after I'd secured most of the daytime shifts at The Thirsty, and so knew most regulars extremely well at this point. There was a trio of older gentlemen that always came in on Fridays, right at four-fifteen without fail.

First was Charlie, the self-appointed ringleader: short, bald and stocky and often wearing a hockey sweater even in the summer months. Charlie was the loudest, the most opinionated, and the most generous. He'd pull you into a one way conversation about something in the news he strongly disagreed with, but it was charming and worth your time.

Then there was Denny, or rather "Dennis Maxwell Charlton the Third" as he introduced himself. Denny was always immaculately dressed, often in a dark silk suit with a colourful tie and a pocketwatch chain dangling from his vest pocket. His hair was usually slicked with hilariously bad hair dye, like an almost glowing brown that even teenagers don't possess. Unlike Charlie, Denny was extremely cautious and precise with his money. His habit of tipping exactly fifteen percent on anything could sound funny, until he pulled out his coin case and there were thirteen nickels and six dimes atop my bar.

Completing the trio was Archie. He was the quietest one: wearing regular clothes and not bothering much with the graveyard of hair wrapping around his head. Arch would hardly say a word to anyone beyond Charlie or Denny, and once I learned his consistent drink of choice was a double rye and ginger, we only communicated through smiles and he tapping his reading glasses.

So it was another Friday, the calm after a somewhat busy lunch, and right at four-fifteen the gang walked in. Charlie was already chatting loudly about a big hockey game that evening, Denny was strutting in a bright purple suit that would offend Willy Wonka's taste, and there was Archie shuffling in quietly behind them.

'Hey Taps!' Charlie proclaimed to me as they sat at my bar. He always called me that and I bet it was because he couldn't pronounce my name. 'Beautiful day ain't it? Only sixteen below!'

They got their usual drinks (Archie his rye-ginger, Denny a Lychee Martini and Charlie whatever domestic beer we had on special) and mixed in with some of the other regulars at the bar. One woman in particular that Denny's arm was around had the trio very excited, and overhearing them I learned she was an old boss from decades before. Eventually she ordered a drink from me, a red wine, and looked at my bar in reminiscence.

'I remember the first time I stepped in this place...' She commented, running her hand along the smooth wood of the bar. 'These bums dragged me out here and I'll never forgive them!'

Everyone nearby hollered. The old boss (Angie, I later learned) bought everyone a shot (including me) and we all cheersed. It may be the loudest the Thirsty ever got at four-thirty in the afternoon.

'Well, I been coming here long before any of you!' Charlie boasted, spilling a bit of beer onto his order of fries. 'I remember seein' Savard high stick Bossy in the face on that big screen right there!' He blindly pointed to a corner that did not have a television, nor looked like it ever had.
'Was that your first time here, chap?' Denny asked.
'One of em for sure! Don't remember the "first" first time! They all kinda blend together.'
'Well, fortunately my recollective abilities are more exact.' Denny remarked, sipping his martini. 'It was summertime I'm certain and I was with you, Charles. You wanted me to check this "great spot" and my hopes were sky high. Instead you led me... here. But I will say, this place has delivered some fine memories over the years, and it's grown on me accordingly. To many more years, friends!'

We all cheersed again (I with a glass of water) and downed what we had. The trio all ordered another round of their familiar choices, except when I gave Archie his, he shook me off.

'Double gin and tonic, actually. Sorry about that.'
'No worries' I replied in surprise, putting the rye aside and pouring a gin.
'Arch? Drinking gin? You dying or something? What's up?' Charlie asked.
'Ah nothing, nothing.' Archie answered, slightly uncomfortable. 'You know, memories.'
'Wait a moment, chap.' Denny began, sliding elegantly into the moment. 'I don't believe you've ever told us about how you came to this humble hole. What a good anecdote that would be!'
'Yeah Arch! C'mon man, you never told me either. Heck, you mighta showed me this place for all I remember!' Charlie added.

The rest of the crowd leaned in to listen. Visibly unaccustomed to this amount of attention, Archie took a large gulp of his drink, which was another out-of-character move and he coughed a bit upon swallowing.

'Well...' he began, tapping his chest to clear his throat, '...fellas, the first time I came here, was the day I met my wife.'

A hush fell upon the crowd: clanging pints became quiet as doorknobs, whispers fell into an abyss of background static, the automated glasswasher stopped on cue, our regular patron Jake "Nosey" Nosul stepped out for a smoke, and Charlie silently nodded at me for a refill. I've never in my years tapped a beer and felt so much a character and a spectator within an event.

'You all want me to tell the story, don't you.' Archie observed, his eyes shy but curious.

We all gave a subtle cheer so as to ease our reserved friend into telling the tale. And he began:

'Well I was working as an intern at Hudson's Bay, fresh from college. One night I worked overtime in the office and the other fellas were restless for a drink. So I tagged along. They were especially thirsty so we ended up in the first spot we saw. It was a downstairs hole, smokey and cramped with old stools and booths, a smell of damp wood clinging to the place.

"What a dump! It's perfect!" One of them remarked.

'We sat at the bar for a round of whiskeys. The sun was down yet the joint was empty, except for a bearded man reading a newspaper and a young couple at one of the booths. My work fellas were busy discussing business:

"Stocks and bonds."
"Stocks and bonds?"
"Yes. Stocks for sure! Then bonds."
"I dunno. Bonds and stocks for me."
"Bonds and stocks?"
"Bonds and stocks."
"Mad man! Stocks, with bonds. At most."
"With bonds? Stocks, equal with bonds?"
"That's it. Stocks equal bonds."
"Stocks equal bonds? Or stocks equal with bonds?"
"This is all madness. Stocks and bonds!"
"Bonds should be so lucky to have that."
"Quite!"
"True, when put that way."
"Sorry fellas." I interrupted, 'I need to freshen up."

'I left the bar and made my way to the back where the washroom was back then. I was about to enter when a woman exiting from the kitchen bumped into me. She had chestnut hair, short and curly around her ears, wide green eyes and a long smile, like a kayak. With a smile she apologized, dusted off her white uniform and darted back into the kitchen.'

'Wait wait, dear chap. She was a waitress here?'
'Denny don't interrupt man!' Charlie scolded, whacking his friend on the leg with a coaster. 'You was sayin', Arch?'

'Right. So I was about to go on about my business when my eye caught something shiny on the floor. A ring. "She must've dropped it!" I thought. I headed back out to the bar and saw her speaking to the young couple in the booth. Ring in hand, I approached her.

"Hey, sorry I think you dro --"

'At first she smiled, but then seeing the ring her expression transformed into crisis. She looked me straight in the eye and shook her head just enough so I'd notice. The couple there noticed my  presence so I had to think of something.

"I mean uh... sorry could I... order another drink?"
"Sure! What would you like?" She asked through an awkward smile.
"Yeah! Um... gin and tonic?"
"Great! I'll bring it right over to you!"


'I sat back with my work fellas, but I realized being so close to that booth wasn't going to work. Instead I took a table in the back. A few minutes later the waitress came over, with a gin and tonic in hand.

"Oh my goodness, so sorry about that! Here, it's on the house."
"Don't worry about it."

'I handed her the ring. "I guess you don't want your friends to know you almost lost your wedding ring."
"Oh no!" She laughed. It was a short, sweet bursting laugh. "It's not mine. It's an engagement ring! Robert there is planning to propose."
"Shoot! I almost ruined everything! Sorry!"
"It's all right! You couldn't have known. I'm the one who dropped it after all! Oh goodness, Robert never would've forgiven me."
I sipped my drink and inquired: "Why do you have their engagement ring?"
"Because Jessica is the nosy type, ha. Robert thinks she'd find it somehow if he hid it at home, so he lent it to me until the right time." 
She leaned close to me to whisper: "He's planning on proposing tonight."
"Well."
"I know right!" She beamed. "I'm so happy for them!"
"Happy for who? What's going on back here?"

'See this whole time, we hadn't noticed Robert and Jessica wander from their booth and over to our table. And there we were, the secret ring visibly in her open hand, Robert looking at us in horror and Jessica eyeing it all suspiciously. The jig was surely up.

'Then suddenly, without warning, I was pulled into a face and kissed square and passionately on the lips. 

"Goodness yes! Yes! Of course yes! You've made me the luckiest girl in the world! Ahhhhh! This is the happiest day of my life!"

'She put the ring on her finger and happily kissed me again. Meanwhile her friends were very confused. Robert wanted to ask a question but then perhaps realized what was happening and backed off. After more kissing and believable tears they gave us some space. 

"That's some quick thinking." I said.
"This is so ridiculous. I can't believe you got so involved in this!"

'She blushed and smiled, looking upwards as though to ask the ceiling what could possibly happen next. It was adorable and I wanted to make her feel better.
 
"It's fine! Really! This is way better than what I'd be doing otherwise." I insisted, glancing over at my work colleagues who were playing cards at the bar.
"I can just explain everything to Robbie at the restaurant later and give back the ring then. We're all supposed to go together once my shift is up. Except... oh no..."
'I asked: "What?"
"Well, isn't it strange if I go with them alone now? Especially since they think they just saw me get engaged?"
"I... oh."
"It's okay, you don't have to keep this up. I'll figure out something out."

'Her back turned to leave. "Wait!" I said. "I'm happy to play along. Lets try this."

'She was skeptical, but agreed. I lingered for fifteen minutes until her shift was finished, and we went together back to the booth where her friends waited.

"Wait." She whispered before we arrived. "If we're supposed to be engaged, I think I need to know your name."
"Right of course." I whispered back. "I'm Archie."
"I like that name. I'm Martina."

'So we sat across from her friends, my arm awkwardly around Martina's shoulder and her hand awkwardly touching mine on the tabletop. Robert and Jessica asked a bunch of questions about how long we'd been dating, why they'd never met me --'

'Shoulda just said you were off to war, Arch!' Charlie interrupted. 'I used that one on Cristina all the time!'
'Still a surprise she ever divorced you, chap...' Denny remarked, his tone as dry as his martini. 
'Stop cutting in! Let Arch finish the story!' Shouted someone. And so Archie continued:

'Our answers weren't smooth, but somehow they seemed convinced Marti and I were actually an item. As the charade went on, my arm wasn't so weird on her shoulder and the touch of her hand on mine wasn't forced but comfortable. Robert and Marti went off together to freshen up before the dinner, and of course so she could give him the ring back and explain the truth to all of this. Jessica and I chatted about something I don't remember until they returned. Right then was also when my work folks were leaving the bar and saw me sitting next to an attractive woman.

"Archie! Hey hey!"
"Don't be up too late, we need you back tomorrow morning!"

'I laughed all this off, but nobody else did. Jessica was looking right at Martina, pointing at her hand.

"Where'd the ring go?"

'She had no answer and I didn't either. After all the wackiness I think we'd both just plain run out of ideas. Not Robert.

"It's right here." He said, pulling it from his jacket pocket and presenting it to Jessica. "And it's for you."

'I think a lot how none of this went as he planned, even so many years later. Here's a moment he'd planned for a fancy restaurant, over expensive wine and candlelight. Not in an dim basement pub with empty bottles of cheap domestic beer. But in that moment it didn't matter to him, this was the right time and place. I don't understand it but I admire it. Jess waited a shocked second before screeching "I will!" and there was a lot of kissing and hugging and the same stuff Martina and I had done an hour before. Except real. 

"That's how you really do it!" Jessica later joked. 

'We shared one last round before the lovebirds went off for that dinner. I walked Martina to the streetcar and we waited together under a streetlight.

"It was kinda fun having a fiance for a while, even a fake one ha ha!"
"I can see what the fuss is about." I smiled.
"Here's my train. Thanks again for everything. You're very sweet Archie."

'After a hug I watched her climb the steps and sit by the window. We waved again at each other as the streetcar sped away. Then she was gone.

The bar was silent for several seconds, waiting for more. 

'So... the end? Charlie asked.
'Yes.' Archie nodded, finishing his gin and tonic.
'No... kiss? Under the streetlight?' 
'Don't think so. No, definitely not.' Archie replied.
'No Shakesperean soliloquy, chap?' Dennis asked. 'Or a poetic farewell and promise to meet again?'
'None of that, no.'

The other regulars who had gathered for the story were clearly confused, looking into their drinks as though that could lend closure to the tale. Charlie was visibly the most so in this regard. 

'I'm real confused here, Arch. After all that, you didn't even ask her out?' He asked.
'Didn't seem like an appropriate moment, no.' 
'So then, chap. How'd you ever see her again?'

Archie tilted his head side to side and grinned oh so subtly, the singular time I've ever seen him do that.

'Well fellas, I did know she worked here. And well that wasn't my last time here, obviously.'

This made the bar go completely nuts with cheering. Dennis bought everyone one last round and shouted: 

'To The Thirsty, chaps! To friends and to dear Archibald here!' 

I worked countless wild Fridays and heard countless wild stories from all types of people, young and old, rich and poor. But never such a tale from such a man so reserved as Archie. The majority of words I ever heard him say come from that particular day, as though he saved them up for just that special occasion. And like how he found that ring on the floor, catapulting him into that story, I am also grateful to be just in the right place at the right time.

Old Slides And Swings

Here comes a fall again. I thought maybe today could be different, just once it wouldn't come. I leap in fear as somebody carrying a stuffed toy passes me from behind, but he's the only one nearby. At least I'm alone for this one.

Here's a place I remember well: younger times, before the falls began, the skipped classes, the yelling parents, the doctors' questions. The carefree days of a child's world. My playground, hidden off to the side of the school and away from the view of the streetwalkers. As this fall builds that old spot is where I find myself, tears forming and feet shaking. Still no one else around, only internal shame to accompany and deflect.

Here's a tall slide I scraped my knee on once. Still have the scar. One time a real doughboy slid down after me too soon and landed right on my back. Another time Sandy Carlson kissed me at the bottom, I thought it was super gross at the time. She moved away to Ottawa in Grade Four and I never saw her again. If only I'd had an option to bank that moment away. I could use that kiss right now.

Here's a set of swings now changed, reminding me of age. Too old to fit on these carefree flyers, too young to yet be called a man. I bat at the chains with my fingers, finding faint childish delight which slows my descent. Once my hands start shaking I'll stop. They've built a garden here now in the exact spot I used to land from the launch of a high swing. Somebody pushed me from the back once as I jumped, so I landed on my head. I chased that jerkwad around good until the teacher broke us up. We swore we'd settle the score after school. Simple schoolyard justice I long for you.

Here now it's too late. The fall hits hard and I'm buried in the sand, a mess of dirt and directionless emotion. Heartbeats speed up like we all did running out here for recess, and they slow like we did dragging ourselves inside when the bell rang. Now the bell rings in my mind and I only want the days of the past: free me from my recurring terror. 

A Place For Innocent Amusement

My mom and stepfather were arguing so loudly I just had to get out of the house. Apparently Mom had burned dinner or "Gerald" had been hiding gin under the sink again. I threw some snacks into my backpack, turned off my cellphone and was straight out the front door just before a "Where do you think you're going?" was yelled into my dust. There was a nearby alleyway to the side of our house I ducked off into, in case Mom or (ugh) "Gerald" came out after me. A few minutes passed and there was no action from the house. I guess they had more important things to argue about.

That battlefield wasn't nearing a ceasefire anytime soon, so I wandered further from home and towards the streetcar lines. The main strip was still bustling: a car zoomed by with the windows down and a bunch of dudes hollering at the night; a scene through the liquor store window where two underage kids were trying to negotiate with a clearly impatient cashier, and young couple pushing a stroller while their older child ran in front and smacked his palm against everything. A trio of girls in university sweaters walked past me and giggled. A group of boys in the same sweaters followed behind and eyed me suspiciously.

Action was happening all around, but I caught sight of something strange hidden within. Across the street was a strange yellow and red light, shining brightly through the trees of Kew Park. I hopped over the streetcar tracks, the curb, the garden sidewalk that just wouldn't grow, and headed deeper into the park. The source of it seemed to be around the bend where the baseball diamond was, so I crept behind the trees that hug the bleachers to get a peek without being seen.

Once I got a clear look, I couldn't believe what I saw. Striped tents of various colours were scattered across the ballfield, with all sorts of booths, games and attractions inbetween them. At the furthest edge of the fair in centerfield was a modest Ferris Wheel, yellow lit and spinning brightly against the background of dark trees. I entered the fair through the open dugout door and was amazed at both how noisy it was and yet how there was nobody here. The game booths were well maintained but unmanned, the small rides spinning constantly without supervision, and the show animals allowed to wander the grounds without consequence. I grabbed a baseball from the ground and threw it randomly at a row of bottles, knocking four of them over. A slight ringing sounded from behind me.

'Congratulations! You win the medium sized prize. Help yourself!'

A woman appeared, white haired in a hat, tall and proud looking despite holding a silver cane and being dressed in the same gaudy colours and stripes as the carnival.

'Who are you? What is this place?' I asked, like a generic protagonist.
'Why, I run the carnival of course! From the blue feathered duck brothers to Worchester's Wheel way back there. The most fun place in town!'
'Sure but, sorry I... I don't really have any money on me...' I said, fumbling through my empty pockets.
'Don't worry, kiddo. We've got you covered! Except for the food concessions, but you wouldn't want that stuff anyway...' She winked and handed me a stuffed owl toy. 'Don't forget your prize!'

She led me through the grounds for a while, mostly as an excuse for her to point out and explain the many dazzling attractions featured tonight. An expert trapeze monkey, a seven horned rhino, a cheeseburger from 1904 that still sizzled and smelled great, a diary from lost Atlantis, and a cannonball that could not be lifted by mortal man. One obvious question couldn't escape my mind, though, despite the tour.

'Where's everybody else? Like your staff? Or the other visitors?'

The carnival leader stopped and ran a finger slowly along the brim of her hat. 'Well, most of my staff have moved on, I'm sad to say. And I miss them. Now it's just me and the animals. We don't talk much, understandably.'

She began walking again to show off the other attractions, but I was unswept.

'But why am I the only one here?'
'Hmmm. Well my young, questioning friend, because you're the one who wants to be here.'

She spoke it like a line repeated countless thousands of times to countless others who maybe existed or maybe didn't, but still I felt the words directed at me personally. Something in the tone, the warmth, the welcoming acceptance. This was an escape, a safe space. My safe space. The mysteries of this place I could not explain, and that's not what I really wanted anyway.

I played the fairway games, marveled at the centenarian burger, petted the friendly blue feathered ducks, had a sporting conversation with the seven horned rhino and rode the giant wheel twice before the chilly wind from the lake told me of the late hour. I waved goodbye and closed the dugout door behind me. The sounds and colourful lights faded as I left and by the time I got back to the streetcar lines, any signs of the carnival were completely gone: the trees of the park dark once more. The air here on the street was warmer though than before and I took a longer way home, thankfully with a stuffed owl toy to keep me company.

Breaking The Bank

'Hurry up will ya? It's gonna close soon!'
'I'm going as quick as I can here, dude! This machine's like, slow or something.'

On cue, it spat my card out for a third time.

INCORRECT ACTION. PLEASE REMOVE CARD

'Damnit!' I groaned, snatching my card and popping it back in.
'We're only got like fifteen minutes, man. I don't wanna be rushing around when we're in there. That's gonna be extra suspicious!'
'The store is only a block away. You sure this is gonna work anyway?'
'Hundred percent, man. Chuckles got these straight from a guy he knows in Chinatown. I just scanned our yearbook photos in and bam! Same birthdays, just legal years of birth.'

IMPROPER PIN. PLEASE TRY AGAIN

'Ugh come on!'
'Just like use another machine, man! Tick tock, tick tock!'

I glanced around, seeing only two other options. One was out of order and the other was taken by a guy and a girl eating gyros and giggling awkwardly. Besides, I'd come this far.

INSUFFICIENT FUNDS. PLEASE REMOVE CARD

'What the actual fu... oh I hit my Saving's Account by accident. Whoops.'
'Dude! I'm gonna go there and buy the stuff myself. Just wait for me here.'
'Yeah right!' I laughed. 'One glance from the cashier and you'll fold instantly. You need me behind you at least for moral support, keep you relaxed while I look cool.'
'If you don't hurry up withdrawing your damn money it's not gonna like, matter either way!'
'Keep your pants on. I think I finally got this. A little patience with a machine and it always pays off...'

INCORRECT ACTION. PLEASE REMOVE CARD

'Damnit damnit!'

Absolutely 64 Again

She totally likes me. She does. How could she not? I'm awesome. I'm super cool. Like the way I played it when we were on the bleachers. She was twirling her blonde hair, blinking her eyes super fast, poking her foot against the metal bench, breathing air like she was thinking about it. And I was all like, so lets meet up at Souvlaki Hut and she fell in love when she said "Sure".

Totally likes me. She does. How could she not? I'm pretty cool. Like the way I'm standing here outside Souvlaki Hut, pretending to mind my own business but I'm really checking out everything. Cooly, of course. Like some old dude and his son dressed up exactly the same, or that cute curly haired girl lugging some groceries across the street. Bet she'd be into me too, if I tried. How could she not? But I'm waiting for somebody else. Her loss. Plan B maybe? Seamless. I'm just that awesome.

She likes me. She does. I'm great. She's late, but whatever. I'm just standing here, super cool because that's how I do. Maybe I could talk up that groceries girl while I'm waiting. You know, she'll fall for me and then I'll have two ladies all over me. Damn, but she's gone. Oh well. Her loss. Next time I'll jump on that. Bit windy today. Whatever, I'm cold on the outside but inside it's all cool.

She's gotta like me. She does. I'm good. Been waiting for almost eleven minutes but I'm cool. I could just leave anytime but it hasn't been that long, imagine I leave too soon and then she comes and misses me! That'd be cruel. I'm cool, I'll wait. Not too cool to split on the fly, but not uncool to the point of waiting for an hour on this windy night. Nope, I'll give her another five, maybe ten minutes. But when she shows I'm gonna act all quiet, like slightly annoyed. That way she'll AGGGHHHHH IT'S HER SHE'S GETTING OFF THE BUS! PLAY IT COOL PLAY IT COOL LEAN AGAINST THAT FENCE! NO THAT'S DUMB LEAN FORWARD WITH YOUR HANDS IN YOUR POCKET PLAY IT COOL PLAY IT COOL

'Er, um... hi.'

The Manor

I don't know why he dragged me to this. I really don't. There I was in my room, happy to play Hellstorm and rack up some kills when Dad walks in my room (knock first, Dad!).

'Get dressed junior. We're going to a housewarming in the east end.'
'What?'
'Nice clothes, look sharp. Be ready by the front door in ten minutes or I'm dragging you out there.'

Dad closed the door. I groaned, threw my controller to the floor and found the best clothes I could within the pile on the floor. What a pain. We had to take a bus to the subway, take another bus from that subway stop and then walk several minutes down some street called Southwood. It was windy, some dumb kid brothers bumped into me and spilled popcorn all over the place, and these dress shoes were giving me blisters. Finally we got to the house and Dad rung the doorbell.

'Stand up straight junior. Look presentable.'

I rolled my eyes and waited. And waited. We stood outside for several minutes, Dad ringing the doorbell several more times (knock first, Dad!) with no result. It was a nice house, with a white porch that closed up everything within itself. At last somebody answered, looked Dad over and looked very disappointed. Without another word we were inside.
There were a lot of people in every room, none of them dressed as nicely as me or Dad. I spoke up to mention this but he shushed me. We wandered through the house, peeking into every room while the strangers within stopped talking at each intrusion. We entered the kitchen and there was Mom with another fella, looking happy and relaxed until she saw us.

'What... what are you doing here?'

Mom was not happy. I turned to leave the room but Dad's leg tripped me back into place.

'This is pathetic.'
'You're pathetic.'

And on it went. Venom turned to fangs, yelling to screaming, spit into tears. I don't know why he dragged me to this, I really don't.

Girls On Film

We were waiting in line outside an old movie theatre: my little brother, me and my parents. They'd wanted to come all the way across the city because one of their first ever dates was here. Dad repeated this story a few times during the drive as an excuse to kiss Mom, causing my little brother and I to grossly squeal.

As Mom and Dad bought the tickets a kiddo bumped into me and asked if I knew where East and something was. He seemed sad when I couldn't answer and sadder when Mom pulled me inside before I could say sorry. Dad bought us all popcorn but little brother whined because he wanted Smarties instead. Spoiled brat. The floors at the... I wanna say Badger Theatre? The floors were very slanted, which was fun. I was at the Ex again! It didn't have an arcade or flashing lights prizes though, just some boring black and white posters.

Mom got some wine and Dad got a beer and weirdly they wanted to sit behind us when we took our seats. 'We'll keep an eye on you!' Dad smiled while Mom giggled. So I was stuck next to little brother who wouldn't shut up about this new game everyone at school was playing. I pinched him many times and ate popcorn until the movie started.

It wasn't the same without surround sound or 3D glasses or those awesome vibrating seats, but it was still Bond on a big screen and it was great. Like the beginning where he's battling a goon hand to hand on a crane, while a bomb is dangling by a thread overtop a local school! Or that part where he fires a bullet through a keyhole, right into the hand of a bad guy who had a knife to the queen's throat!

Halfway through the movie my stomach hurt and I lost track of the plot. Bond was suddenly on a big beach, with bright blue water and paper white sand. He was there to meet a spy or steal some plans or something, and he approached a woman lying in the sand by the shore. She stood up to face him and her skin sparkled and shone golden brown under the bright sun. I felt warm and tingly inside, like nervous. Another close up of her, ending at chest level and the feeling doubled.

My face was on fire, I was blushing. I'd never felt anything like this before. My legs twitched slightly. Some bizarre energy flowed towards them, meeting in the middle. Bond put a hand on her shoulder, kissed her lips and I wished I was in his place. Little brother squealed like he did in the car. I stared at the screen, wanting to see more like a rabbit peeking down the hole.

End of the Line

'Last stop! Get off my streetcar ya dumb kid!'

The driver practically shoved me down the steps. I could not understand his anger, driving a train through the city sounds like fun.
It was colder here than downtown. The wind was harder. Chilly air from the lake went through my bones. Mom did tell me to pack an extra sweater. I hate when parents are right.
I didn't know where I was. I'd asked the driver where Eastern and Woodfield was but he snorted at me. This place was some weird spot where the streetcar tracks loop behind some Deco fortress. Now my friend with the latest game was waiting somewhere and I was here, wherever that is. This sucks.

The wind bites my face. It howls along these strange buildings, taking it's time to feed on me. I start walking back the way I came. The other way darkens and closes up, like to swallow my future. In my future hopefully I can find someone seeing I am lost and directing me towards my waiting friend. Or a streetcar driver with a smile. But now it's cold and I am so alone in this worn unknown town. In the distance way ahead is the tower, the shiny city world where I came from. Here I am a stranger and I hide my face to the passersby. The sooner I can grow outta here the better.