MR. HEY
Oh hey, you want truth? I just had all my f*****g gear stolen. Who the hell is this? Who are you? Like, are you just into torturing trees by sticking pins in them or is this *about* something?
Ugh. What have I started?
Weston and Lawrence is essentially a transit depot crossed with a highway. The hum and growl of idling traffic queuing, green- and red-lit arteries pumping out buses, cars, trains. In and out: grocery shoppers, residents, labourers passing through. Sometimes it makes me wonder if anyone actually stays here or whether all these buildings are empty after dark. What does that say about me? What do you call someone who chooses – somewhat randomly – to make a place her home only to wake up every morning hoping that everything will be different, like I’m in a ’90s movie
