Strange people.
I started revising my resume and cover letter templates.
I will not cry.
+ + +
I SAT ON my picnic table in the dog bowl of Trinity Bellwoods, staring at Dr. Wallace Turner’s card.
The man can’t be sane, I thought.
I needed more: information, context, reasons to believe that this wasn’t a reality show I would end up being asked to source stock music for later. Something massive seemed unresolved. I couldn’t explain for myself what it was. Everything seemed to be moving forward with inevitability, as if I’d been placed on a conveyor belt after Dad passed away. Walking along Queen West on my way over, I passed a black-and-white flyer for a local salon stapled onto the poles of several street lights in a row. In large sans serif type the headline read:
SO LONG AS MAN
WA
