chalk graffiti
It’s the summer of 1999. I’m laying on the grass in Grange Park, Toronto. I have a sack lunch, probably a ham and cheese sandwich, apple, and Capri sun because that is what they packed us everyday. I buy SunChips and Clearly Canadian (because when in Rome...) at a corner store everyday.
Go back there. Tell 20 year old me that this is the freeist I will ever feel. Tell me to soak up every bit of it - the blue sky, the flowers, the breeze, the teenagers in my charge, even the junkies in the bathroom. Because you can never go back.
There is no going back.
Parlez le français ou mourir.
11:03 p.m. - 2018-09-17