+ + +
“IT WAS STUPID, I know.”
“You went to a cricket match in Etobicoke? Looking to find a guy whose name was Vijay?”
I bowed my head in shame, my hands shoved into my pockets. We were walking down Huron Street from Bloor, having met at G’s Fine Foods. An overcast afternoon in late June, sidewalks soaked in rain.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Sorry isn’t really necessary. I don’t know. Maybe it is. What were you expecting to see? I mean, you were expecting to go there . . .”
“Yeah. Shut up.”
“. . . to find someone named Vijay . . .”
“Shut up.”
“Where to start . . . like, did you expect them to wear name tags?”
“f**k off.”
I could see his eyes contemplating the scale of my plan’s half-bakedness. Then he looked at me, shaking his head. “You must have been disappointed. You couldn’t have walk
