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ragged day

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

I went for a long walk, today, after stopping by the office to help move my desk + associated crud there-on to the other room, where the bosses are assembling a 'data centre'. I eventually found myself on some rail-road tracks that run down the Don valley. I found my way to the pedestrian + cycle path, but there was a fence in between. Following a line of crushed weeds to the fence, I found a board and propped it up against the fence. Then I climbed over.

On the other side, a very brown and very serious-looking young boy was watching me silently. He looked like he disapproved. I told him that he shouldn't go climbing over fences in place because you never know what might be waiting over there. I showed him all of the welts all up my fingers, hand, and arm from where the 'weeds' had stung me. They were stinging nettles.

On the way, I passed by the spot where Toronto's little tent city had once been. It's now completely barren, but there's a unique and priceless highway sign advertising the driving range at the ghastly club/entertainment complex the built at the docks.