My Westside story

I had to drive thru the Westend of Toronto, off Jane and Dundas. Malta
Village and Junction.

Fuck. The place is like time out of time. All lost in the rustbelt era
of the 80's. Punks and hobos run around in torn army jackets and black
tight jeans. Faded technocolor building stumped the streets. Lots of
people with pretty, vacant eyes watching the cars go by, and sitting
there and not moving.

Almost got into a couple of "accidents."

One man refused to believe in the reality of my 2500lbs car moving at 60
km/h. He waited patently until his light turn red and the proceeded to
cross the road with his two bright, yellow grocery bags. I waved, I
rev'ed my engines, I honked, I even sped up. But he decided what buddha
decided a long time ago: the material world is an illusion. So he kept
on walking into the path of my car. Missed him by a couple of inches as
I swerve into the opposite lane, which was luckily unoccupid.

Another man in his black spandex shirt, black speedo, and iPod decided
that he was the Man of Steel. Faster than a speeding bullet, and of
course, impervious to a puny automobile. Jumped in front of my car, then
looked disdainly at my efforts to reduce speed. "Why do you bother?" his
half-opened eyes, brimming with sadness and infinite charity to
insignificant humanity, "my super human physique can easily dodge your
vehicle and the skintight, invisible barrier around my body shall
protect me and my pitch black speedo." He looks away, changes the track
on his iPod and leaps off to more adventures.

The photo shows the weird state of the Westside. I wish I could take
more pictures, but it was too backlit everywhere.

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