As I was taking our dog on a walk through Old Chinatown, the weather turned and it began to pour rain. Like everybody else on Gerrard Street, we ran for shelter, stopping in the first commercial doorway we found.
It turns out we were in the entranceway to Champions Off-Track wagering. Looking down the stairwell, I could see a dilapidated basement room equipped with a few chairs and television sets. There was a sign posted outside the room– in both Chinese and English– that warned against swearing, arguing and unnecessary provocation.
A few of the patrons looked up at us, watching as Heidi shivered and I tried to look preoccupied by the weather. A couple of tiny, old Asian men came up to have a look. They stood quietly beside us, smoking and watching the rain, before returning back to their basement gambling den.
About five minutes later, a shambly black man in a green bomber jacket with stuffing coming out a hole near the shoulder, ascended the stairs. He looked at us and laughed. Shaking his head, he stepped out onto the sidewalk, and then, after a second, turned and put a finger to his lips, “ don’t you be telling the wife where I’ve been now, okay?”
And then he walked away, passing by a bunch of now sopping wet t-shirts—8 for $10—that were hanging lifeless from their display rack.