Mr Johnson strolls down Queen Street Greeting those he meets like a politician kissing babies, armed with the gift of remembering everyone’s name…
“Mr Filmore, good morning!”
“Mr Johnson. ”
Mr Francesco isn’t saying much today. He seems to be concentrating on the ramblings of the old woman who’s taken up residence in the bus shelter. She screams, “Bigshot!” at the drivers of the cars who pass by. She’s seems angry that they’ve wasted their youth hoarding gold.
Steve’s friend suggests to what he calls the best blow job in Parkdale that she ply her trade elsewhere.
The neighborhood is a lively little microcosm this morning.
I’ll just go to work and leave the neighborhood to Mr Johnson to greet and meet.