The Danforth is one of the great neighbourhoods in Toronto. It has also been my home for most of the last twenty years. I know much of its well worn streets and indeed many of the joys I've shared and the scars I wear have been witnessed by this avenue.
The cafe lined street vibrates with energy, many of the faces familiar as I stroll down the sunlit sidewalk. Athenian accents can be easily heard, emanating from the seemingly endless array of sidewalk patios. The scent of souvlaki is in the air as the many grillmen attend to their many grills.
Other faces await, and like most of Toronto the air is fully multicultural. Mango shakes at the Thai place, sushi and Indian right downstairs and a massive organic grocery store beckons across the street. The Danforth is not all Greek to me.
There is darkness here too, as troubled souls and panhandlers are among the familiar faces. "Glue Guy", so messed up from always huffing, "Smiley", someone you don't want to run into if he goes off his meds, while "Mr. God Bless You" plys his trade in front of the liquor store.
As night draws, the revellers abound in the boundless options of a myriad of watering holes. The final offering a pork gyros from the guy by the fountain at 4 am and a short stroll back to my friendly confines.
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