Sticky, smoggy air has pushed its way into every nook and cranny of the apartment. The notoriously humid, hot Toronto weather has started baking the city, releasing aromas even the raccoons find rather disturbing. Grown men have taken to unleashing seat-rumbling flatulence through perspiration-soaked cutoffs on packed subway trains.
Hello, summer!
The business around Casa del Beatnik has been pretty bizzy these days, with the new job slowly revealing itself in a multitude of non-perverted ways, and anticipation growing for a well-deserved trip to a Central American paradise. I’ve been getting back into bike-riding (to the chagrin of my 90-pound-weakling body) and hanging out with all of the coolest Toronto nerds and neighbours whenever I’ve a chance.
This summer my goal is to squeeze the lemon ‘till the juice runs down my leg. That, or maybe figure out if big-legged women really don’t have soul. At least that’s what a dude on the streetcar was pontificatin’ in a rather loud voice a few days ago.
There’s something truly awesome about cheese-ball lyrics belted out loud on a crowded streetcar at 9am without any context whatsoever. The world needs more dada.
All in all, it’s shaping up to be a very unboring summer.
