In Riverside, during the day, there are an awful lot of men with nothing to do wandering the streets. Some make eye contact, others don’t. When I take the dog for her walk, we pass them. Some speak furtively into cell phones from alleys, while others, brushing aside homemade curtains, peer out from their rooms in the Broadview Hotel above Jilly’s.
In front of a discount store, sketchy looking men with pale, sunken faces sit on benches–each one holding a cup of Tim Horton’s coffee, which somehow gives them the appearance of waiting for their AA meeting. A few yards away, hipsters sit at the communal table at The Dark Horse Espresso Bar. Typing away on their Apple Laptops with stern, concentrated faces, they give the appearance of being self-contained, anti-social even, in spite of the fact that they’ve chosen to be amongst people.
Two men, each with a lit cigarette clutched in their teeth, drive by the window on their mobility scooters, little Toronto Maple Leaf flags waving from each. At Jimmy Simpson Park, men sit on benches, watching traffic, while Asian boys play pick-up basketball—always passing, never shooting. Up at Jim’s Restaurant, we sit on the patio– some silver chairs in the parking lot of Ming’s Auto– waiting for the take-out I ordered. A toothless old man in a Scarborough Sabers jacket coughs from the chair beside me. Thick and gurgling, he looks at me with his red eyes, “I hate that,” he says.
Men appear out of nowhere here. Off the sidewalk, a man wanders over, combing through the unguarded ashtrays on the table. Suddenly, there’s a guy in overalls. With a simple expression on his face, he stares at the dog like he’s never seen such a creature in his life, “Where you from?” he asks bluntly. Frail, with bristly stubble, an old man with a cane wobbles out of the diner. He’s taken with Heidi, and sticks his face right up to her snout. A bad decision, but one he was not punished for. “They can tell if you’re a threat or not,” he says, sharing the wisdom of the ages. The worn looking waitress comes out and gives me my Souvlaki Platter. She bends down and ruffles Heidi’s ears, kissing her head, before yelling at the dishwasher– who was on a smoke break– for forgetting to make a salad.