spook grew up in the mountains. I can't begin to describe the scenery there except to say that it's so pretty it looks fake on postcards. I grew up in downtown Toronto. I think these things shaped our personalities in a lot of ways, but the one I'm thinking of today is that when I'm going somewhere, I usually pick the most direct route. (The city is a grid, however imperfect, and why waste all those straight lines?) spook, despite having been here only a few years, always knows a prettier way. Sure, sometimes it's slightly less efficient, but it's not like he's wandering off irrationally--he just prefers to get there with trees, if possible. We went to work together this morning, and on the way there was this tiny mouse, running around doing mouse things. They're very cute when they're not in your kitchen, pooping in your cupboards. I can't remember the last time I saw a mouse just hanging around. I don't know if I've ever seen a mouse outside. As far as I was concerned, Toronto was a mouseless city, with the exception of the aforementioned kitchens, and the subway tracks, where they seem to do a thriving mousey business of some sort. I took the hint (thanks, universe) and took his route when I walked home, too. It was nice.
I've been walking to and from work a lot, lately. Another thing it has afforded me is a view of Yonge St. at 6:30 in the morning. For those of you who don't know, Yonge is the major north-south street here in town, and all my life it's been a blur of strip clubs and shoving and unfortunate store music blaring at you from the external speakers. At dawn you can walk unimpeded by other people, which is practically a miracle. One thing that detracts from the serenity of the experience is that all the hotdog merchants are out. I can't stop thinking about this. Do people really want to eat hotdogs at that hour? Eeeee.
Despite the hectic pace of the store today, I feel good about how it went. I believe tiny, squeaky thanks are in order.