June 01, 2005

On Sunday, the streets of Toronto slowly dissolved into a mist of fever and pain.

The morning started out fine… We nodded our heads to jazz at the Distillery and played with props at one of the theatrical companies that offered tours during Doors Open Toronto.

Then the weather started fucking with us. Cold showers. Random bursts of sunshine. My throat was killing me and not even coffee seemed to do any good.

Somehow, Laura and I managed to follow Dave to the other end of the city for a comic arts festival. The whole place was full of wonderful creatures — geeks in their 20’s who devoted their days and nights to creating graphic stories only their friends would read. Everyone reminded me of me. Dave met his idols while we got dolls of Captain Underpants, who fitted marvellously into our pockets.

And then it rained again, and I felt miserable. Throbbing pain. We went to eat sushi and then the fever started. I lay on Laura’s lap and then we went searching for medicine. Who the fuck gets a cold in the middle of the summer? Toronto does crazy things to my immune system.

We shuffled our way to the bus station, and rode out at sunset with sore throats, memories, and cameras packed with pictures.

This is the last entry in a series of entries about Toronto. You can find the previous entries here and here.