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I originally had my mobile phone number up here, but because of a frightening incident with a stalker (really), I had to take it down. Why must I be so unintentionally charming? Why must my eyes sparkle so? 

Now located at the corner of Queen and Spadina in Downtown, Toronto. It's awful, and I miss the cozy snuggles of the Annex, where the bars were open 'til 2am on Wendesdays and a mature, decent crowd strolled around, in and out of bookstores and cafes, like a little Quebec City, but without the assholes. Here, I'm accosted for a cigarette sixty-five times, even before I get to that McDonald's on the north-west corner, which is literally, sixty-five steps from my front door.

But -- I'm above a store, on two floors, with a broken intercom but a killer view, which has always been my dream digs, partly because it reminds me of the East Village in NYC, and partly because my dreams are mundane and stupid and sometimes homoerotic.