let's see, now what exactly can i recall from yesterday's brief sojourn into the deepest, darkest recesses of toronto's subterranean transportation labyrinth. (ok, so maybe our city's subway system isn't really all that complicated, but it is underground.)
well, there was the spontaneous nose bleeder, who not only felt it necessary to gush crimson gold from his portside nasal cavity for the better part of my trip but who also seemed intent on broadcasting every minute detail of his ordeal to his nearby paramour and confidante.
and then there was the slightly peculiar beer can collector (an early candidate for hoarder of the century) who proudly displayed his wares stuffed inside the clear plastic garbage sack slung over his shoulder. santa claus he ain't, although the scruffy white beard did leave me scratching my own slightly stubbled chin for a moment or two.
and who could forget the loudtalkers -- mr. and mrs. loudtalker i presume -- who managed to enunciate each and every syllable with such earsplitting intensity that even an army drill sergeant would have blushed.
and finally, no railway journey would be complete without the disquieting unease generated by the unwavering gaze of this city's multitude of tunnel-dwelling creepers and stalkers. if promoting awkward ennui amongst your fellow travellers is indeed your bailiwick, then the toronto transit commission is the place for you. so step right up and take a seat, ladies and gentlemen.
what is it they say about no two snowflakes being alike?
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