No, this is not about Pride or, for once, the Toronto Police.
Take a look at the yellow sign, left side of the photo. That sign is for the “Not Just Noodles” diner on the North-east corner of Wellesley and Yonge.
I’ve eaten there at least twice with my Writing Buddy. Good memories from the past and, I hope, more to come.
My weeks are marked by milestones, one of which is to be at the Eaton Chelsea Hotel early Saturday morning where I lift a copy of The Globe and Mail and The National, grab a $4 coffee, and sit and read for an hour or so.
Some Saturday mornings the place is packed tighter than a suitcase – Pride Weekend, or Caribana for example.
Some Saturday mornings the place is packed just because three travel groups are checking oyt for the trip to Niagara, and everyone is carmming the $18 buffet breakfast in time to catch the coach.
Last Saturday was such a day. One section of the room is cordned off for a group, so I could not sit at one of the empty tables there. I sat at a table that seats four, one of the few tables available.
Withing twenty minutes one of the wait staff came along – would I mind sharing? Not at all. After all, I’m there because being with people is more interesting than sitting by myself in my apartment.
So, I spent thirty minutes chatting with a lady from Italy (Sardinia) and a gentleman from Brazil (Récife).
Then they left.
And by the time they left the room was back to a deserted state. The tide of travelers flows and ebbs …