My old phone refuses to die. The alarm goes off every day at 5:30 and the button won’t work to stop it so that it keeps on snoozing for five minutes and going off again. Even though it’s not a smart phone it’s like some stupid Frankenstein’s monster. I’ll have to be careful that it doesn’t sneak up on my new phone while it’s sleeping and murder it.
A dragonfly danced ahead of me above the broken dregs of Spadina Road as I rode north to Eglinton.
South of Eglinton, between the backs of the Yonge street buildings and the subway tracks is a narrow alley. I’ve been alley starved lately. I took some pictures of the trains leaving and approaching Eglinton station.
I stopped to pee at a “gastro pub”. What an appetizing name for a restaurant. It sounds like they serve churning stomachs on a plate. The paper towel machine has an electric eye that one has to hold one’s hand up to for every piece, doing the casual bent elbow salute over and over again like an inspector of Nazi troops.
My new, second door down the hall neighbour, Greg, came to my door to ask if I had wi-fi. I assume he wanted to work out a share deal in which he’d rent my password. I gave him the password for the Capital Espresso. This was really the first time we’d talked.
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