1. The Smiling Poncho (All staff must wear a poncho, and the chef will wear a sombrero with little, hooked fish hanging off the brim. It will be fun!)
2. Fish and Ships (You will sell ship knickknacks as an alternate revenue stream at the front desk.)
3. Clamorama (Deep-fried clams will be a specialty.)
4. Blood In The Water (This Risto will have a shark-attack themed décor. It will really stand out from the crowd and when you order the signature plate of paella, the theme music to Jaws will play as the serving staff brings it out. We will be a destination for birthday and bachelor parties, so if legal, we will have all serving staff working in bikinis and speedos. GAY FRIENDLY.)
4. Los Peces Sexy (Obviously, this means The Sexy Fish in Spanish. Consider Tango dance lessons in the evening?)
5. Scales And Males (This would be a gay restaurant)
6. Scales And Tails and Males (This would be a more flamboyant and risque gay restaurant)
7. Something Fishy. (This is cute, and I think that each night you should stage a marine-themed murder mystery production as entertainment for the dining guests.)
8. Crabbies (Part of the appeal of this incarnation would be the gruff, sailor-like atmosphere and service.)
9. Fishing for a compliment? (Could become popular with people on first dates!)
10. The Fishcotheque (On the weekends it a disco and fine seafood restaurant.)
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July 1st, and on Bloor Street some people were dressed to celebrate Canada Day, others to support Italy or Spain– who were to clash later in the afternoon for the Euro Cup final– and even more were dressed for the Pride Parade, an event that would see 1, 000, 000 lining the streets of the city on a scorching hot day.
Near Bloor and Yonge a young beggar sat on the sidewalk beneath the shade of an awning. He had his shirt off and he was pale, bruised and unpredictably tattooed. He seemed messed-up, and as people passed by he reached out for each one, as if taking a swipe at their legs. People were avoiding him like the plague, but a beautiful woman in provocative red hot pants with a Canadian Maple Leaf on each ass cheek stopped in front of him and bent over as if posing for a Page 3 shot. She then put both her hands on his face and kissed him.
The Time Warp blared from a float and a riot of middle-aged men in tank tops and red pom-poms exploded in front of us. Joyously performing a carefully choreographed dance number, their teeth could not have shone any brighter. Teenaged girls, their bodies covered in glitter, wove through the crowds as the scent of pot wafted by indifferent, happy police officers. Drag queens, like Barbie Dolls melting in the sun, smiled bravely from their flotilla perches, waving past us like the celebrities they’ve always known themselves to be.
The palest Goth girl in the world sat in a wheelchair that was being pushed along the sidewalk by a large Indian man in a kilt. All in black and wearing a Hijab, a small woman with bony, root-like hands squeezed through the crowds smiling and taking photographs.
A hopeful young man wandered about armed with two massive water guns. As if performing a public service, he asked everybody, “Free water spray? Free water spray?” He delighted when an elderly couple declared that they wanted one. Smiling and still holding hands, they raised their arms and closed their eyes as if on a roller coaster, and the young man sprayed them cool, the nearby crowd cheering encouragement.
A mother was taking a photograph of her daughter standing beside a wall of Pride Posters. The girl was perhaps 18, and both she and her mother were wearing the convenient, floppy hats of tourists. The girl held a Rainbow flag and even though she was smiling, her eyes were inflected with a touch of melancholy. Who knows what journey led the two of them to this place in time? The song Like A Prayer rolling down Bloor Street, the two of them walking away now, arm in arm.
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