Leaving Las Vegas

You could say that I'm leaving Las Vegas. Providing, of course, that by saying 'Las Vegas' you actually mean 'Bloor and Sherbourne, Toronto'. Toronto is a funny place to live. You spend all your time being alone in a crowd- but when you go to leave, all you can think of are the individual faces. It's exactly how I felt when I left residence last year. In the midst of depression, anxiety and the onslaught of a failed academic year. Those last few weeks at Glendon saddened me because I was thinking about the people who made me feel comfortable there: Andrea mostly, and for some strange reason, Anthony (oops, forgot I was supposed to quit mentioning him...see earlier blogs for clarification). With this current move, I didn't feel a single pang of loss about leaving the city until I went to sleep in that room for the last time. My bed is right up against the window, and on the 28th floor, so there's a lot for the eyes to behold. I lay there dazzled by the millions of tiny lights that keep the downtown core all lit up, no matter what time of night or day. Sitting up so high and looking down at everything like it's a kingdom tends to bring about a sense of treason when I remind myself that I'm leaving. And what am I leaving it for? Hamilton? Good God. If that were true, I'd have some serious thinking to do. However, it's not so crazy when you remember that I'm leaving it because I'm going to be living with Mark, ideally for the rest of my life. So who's to say that said 'life' might not lead me back to Toronto eventually. Strangely enough, one of the things I anticipate that I'll miss the most is travelling back and forth on the Go bus. Some of the most memorable incidents of my adult life have occurred there. It's only fitting then that on my final transport 'home' to Hamilton included the following:

(First, let me say that I've heard all the jokes about Hamilton to which so many Torontonians are partial. It's no secret that the City of Steel is most famous for its equally unique and pungent odour. Keep that in mind while taking in this story)

Whilst getting off the bus at King and Caroline last week, I was joined in my exit by two young French lads. What were the first words uttered upon their descent of the GO bus stairs?

"Euh, Ça sent de la merde!"

Ah well. Once you get a Frenchman telling you your city smells like shit, you know how far gone things really must be.

Seriously.


Toronto at night