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About Halifax

She’s a riddle, this prostitute. Face painted like a masque, eyes hollow as a grave. Met one once—called her Rose, tho’ she weren’t no flower. “How’s it hangin’?” I says, all casual-like. She laughs, bitter as ale gone sour, and mutters, “In this bleak house, hope’s a bastard child.” Swear she quoted Cuarón’s flick without knowin’ it! Made me grin, that did—smart lass, even if life’s kicked her teeth in.

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I walk around, see the David Dunlap Observatory – wild spot, man…I remember hangin’ there thinkin’ “This is some bomb disposal level crazy city!” The parks? Oh lord, the parks are epic. Boyd Conservation Area, you know, where I escape the craziness, just me and nature. Sometimes I almost hear the soft hum of a detonator go off in my head—like in "The Hurt Locker", ya feel me? Every corner's got a story here.

Pedestrian dead after collision at highway intersection in Vaughan, Ont.