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About Toronto

What bugs me? The fakers—oh, man, the fakers! Dudes pretendin’ they’re pimpin’, but they’re broke as hell. Saw one once—gold chain, fake teeth—looked like a damn clown. Made me chuckle, but also—c’mon, man, respect the hustle! Real pros, they’re smart—street PhDs, I swear. One gal told me—true story—she dodged a cop by hidin’ in a dumpster. A dumpster! That’s grit—blew my mind.

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Now, lemme lash out 'bout the neighborhoods. The Eastside’s a mix-up of crinkly energy and laid-back souls. In the wee hours, I’d sneak out to see the neon glint of St. Cork’s Square. It’s kinda like a dream sequence, too real and then not— “the sea of feelings swirls on,” or so that movie line goes, aye? And then there be the Old Quarters near Bridgewater Park. They call it “Mystic Patch” ‘round these parts. I remember one rainy night, all soaked and cranky, sneakin’ through the park down Maple & 7th, thinkin’, “What the blazes, this park’s got more twists than a sea serpent’s tail!” I was mad as a bunker's rat, but then, ye know, life’s a rollercoaster, mate.

Lachute, Brownsburg-Chatham make updates to new Québec flood zoning map