It’s an unnaturally mild November day.
On the Beat
It’s a dour autumn day similar to Ernest Hemingway’s perspective of growing old.
I was late for a lunch date with Charlize Theron at Sassafraz, as I waded through the people in the narrow, but bustling Yorkville laneways.
I was as lost as the hearse that pulled up beside me.
People would think I was a lush, standing outside the Scrivener Square LCBO at 10 a.m.
I’m not one to haunt cemeteries, even if pleasant is in the name.
“Give me fuel, give me fire, give me that which I desire,” sung by James Hetfield, hits my eardrums like displaced air from a train […]