Nostalgia is a dangerous state of being

On the corner of Bathurst and College Street in Toronto, Ontario, there’s a restaurant called Sneaky Dee’s. On the side of said restaurant (server of low-grade Mexican fare and watery draft) is the words, “Feed my eyes!” in gigantic, spray-painted black letters. On a Saturday afternoon, walking around with Renée in Winnipeg’s deserted, morose downtown (yet another victim of the suburban box stores and shopping malls which have infested middle-sized cities like this), with barely a single person to be seen, and the childhood memories of a bustling, vibrant city mocked by the emptiness of it all, that’s all I can say. Feed my eyes!

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