he returned refreshed and drove like poetry. the circle works

Update from the field: tried the atrium on your recommendation. Read two chapters, missed zero streetcars because I wasn't waiting for one. Flawless system.

'the chair has earned tenure' — stitch it on his jersey

as this city's unofficial transit biographer: the drivers have seen everything and they remember everyone. you're canon now

This is the setup of a horror movie for commuters. Act one: an empty parkway. Act two: you find out both other routes were closed and everyone knew but you.

the tragedy of the perfect park is that it looks identical to a normal park to everyone but you

Ours figured out the bin, then figured out which night is collection night. He now shows up on a schedule more reliable than anything else in this city and I include my own employer in that.

'the sound of wings at ankle height' is a complete horror story in seven words

Walking out of spite is the truest Toronto cardio. I once beat the 501 from Broadview to Yonge on foot and I bring it up at parties.

It understood the social contract better than the guy playing drum solos off his phone speaker at 8 a.m.

meanwhile in Toronto, 'twenty minutes' is a number the TTC uses to mean anything from four minutes to the heat death of the universe