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.
She then put both her hands on his face and kissed him. 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 shot. He seemed messed-up, and as people passed by he reached out for each one, as if taking a swipe at their legs. He had his shirt off and he was pale, bruised and unpredictably tattooed. Near Bloor and Yonge a young beggar sat on the sidewalk beneath the shade of an awning. 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. I wanted to swim in the city, through the throngs. I wanted to dive into it all like it was a lake. The long weekend just passed, and although an awful lot of Toronto wanted nothing more than to leave the city and “get away from it all,” I felt the opposite.