Today’s soundtrack: I was lost, the losing dice were tossed
Today at 7:02pm: shivering on foreign street corners



I came up here in August and she drove me around. I thought it was a date.

We had cigarettes and dinner at a place called Shanghai Cowgirl. I can’t remember what we ate but I remember it was warm so we sat in the courtyard out back. I was happy to talk to her.

After dinner we continued our conversation in the car. She drove all around Toronto. I love driving around cities at night. At one point she put the car on the highway, to show me the drive she takes when she’s stressed. City turned to forest in a short while. Back in New York if you want to see foliage-lined highways you have to slog through New Jersey or the Bronx first. Toronto has no such thing.

On that summer night we ended up in the dark parking lot of a beach sometime around midnight. Parked the car and the two of us walked down a pitch-black trail towards the water. Unfortunately it was more spooky-dark than romantic-dark. By the time we reached the sand she seemed freaked out, and I started to recall horror movies I’d seen that began like this.

Later she drove us back into the city, and we parked and talked. I thought the moment was right (I never could read women) so I made a move and it, you know, yeah, bad idea. Bullet holes in the fuselage.

I met her the first time I came to Toronto. Alex and Suz took us to some bar and she was there. She recognized me from a website column I used to write and we started talking. After we left the bar I figured I’d never see her again.

Now it’s my third time in Toronto, I ring her for the hell of it and she seems down to hang out. I’m surprised, on the phone she actually sounds enthusiastic.

She picks me up at my hotel and we go to some little café for coffee.

“So how’s things,” I ask.

“Okay,” she says. “How about you?”

“Can’t complain.”

“I just moved in with my boyfriend,” she says, and begins telling me about that. Apparently it’s something of a disaster. She likes the guy but the proximity is killing them. I listen patiently, withholding advice.

“Did you ever live with a girl?” she asks.

“I did,” I say.

“How did it go?”

“Went to hell inside of two months. But there were...circumstances. We were overseas. It was kinda complicated.”

“Are you guys still friends?” she asks.

“She won’t talk to me,” I say. “Hasn’t in five years.” She hate me, like I’m Anthony Mackie.

“What do you think I should do?” she asks. I dodge the question. Some questions you should answer, questions like What time is it or Do you have any more coffee or Which way is Canal Street. Other questions you leave alone. Best you can do is use your words to maneuver them into figuring out the answer themselves.

After the coffee’s drained and she’s gone I’m standing on the corner of Bloor and something, freezing my ass off. It’s dark out and city traffic passes me in a steady stream.

Eventually my own car drives up and stops at the curb in front of me. It’s a weird sensation.

Kirk hops out of the driver’s seat, and I hop in. Kirk gets in the back with Lam and Tony. Francis is riding shotgun. I shut the door, snap my seatbelt on.

“How’d it go?” they ask.

“Went okay,” I say, putting the car in gear.