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by
The other day I was in a cab heading east on Bloor Street.
Broken men, huddled near the doorway to the Salvation Army, look out at the passing shoppers.
On Thursday, Chinatown was bright and dusty, like an over-exposed postcard from a previous era.
The ER at the Toronto General, or anywhere in this city for that matter, is utter bedlam.
My Text Message Log From New Year’s Eve: