I don’t go out much, so I don’t have much of a sense for the Toronto night-life. Walking along Bloor West, amongst the noise and the light and the hustle and bustle, I realized: “Oh yeah, I hate this. That’s why I don’t go out.” So I spent the rest of my evening on Toronto’s dark and quiet back streets; empty areas with unmaintained sidewalks, snow covered driveways, and lots of ice. Lots of very slippery ice. The kind of slippery ice that very suddenly, and very abruptly, introduces your ass to the hard concrete walkway. “Hello ass, meet pain. Goodbye pride.”
Had I stayed on Bloor Street, I would not have slipped. However, I would’ve had to endure more of that night-life that I despise, so, in the end, it was a fair trade. I’d much rather be bruised than social.