It's Sunday, it's chilly out, and I'm just killing time while bake my peameal (read: Canadian bacon, for all those Americans). It was on sale. I'm wrapping up things in Toronto. I finished school. I have a job that doesn't matter. And a couple other commitments that I plan to put behind me.
It's been cloudy all day, but totally comfortable outside, without the discomfort of wearing long sleeves you get in July. There's a general air of hope and expectation: semesters are drawing to a close; the long trudge of winter is behind us; and the weather will only get better.
A few things have changed in the last year and half--not just your facial hair. For one, the way you say street names has changed. For another, I'm no longer scared shitless by our website. And then, I suppose, there's the seasons, which are constantly changing but somehow always the same, which seems to be a recurring theme with us. I guess that about segues into my letter, which I couldn't write on the day of, but which I made sure to remember so I could write it later. So here goes: a typical Monday in the life of Sal Walker.
The Spring Equinox in Toronto as Narrated by our daring hero Sal Walker, to his far-off friend, Henry the Half-Back Kid