Wouldn’t know it I find myself in a bus depot. Given that the last time I made this trip you were with me, I find myself rather lonely.
I have about five unsent letters for you, but I am going to skip them. They are mostly unfinished and mostly crappy little fragments—I so desperately wanted to capture, properly capture how wonderful it was to see you in New York at the end of May. After all this time you finally came down and honest it meant so much to me. And those sandwiches. Cubanos ! Perfection. But you know I have had a hard time putting to words what was so easy to live. I’ll try again later and save those stories for when we compile and publish our grand correspondence... the Toronto-New York Letters: Extended Edition now with never before read material.
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.