Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

OK – after griping about the weather here yesterday, I have to give some love back to T.O. When you get a nice overnight snowfall, and it isn’t -30C the next day, there isn’t another city in the world I’d rather be in than T.O.
– the slosh, slosh, slosh sound of people’s boots at King station
– the wheels of the streetcar as it cuts through the slush
– the homeless guy taking in triple earning from passers-by who feel the love
– the delivery guys on bikes, too stubborn to go it by foot, with water all the way up their backs
– the way a crowd of people can move in unison, like a school of fish, as a truck is about to send a spray of water their way from the street
– the old guy shuffling along who is suddenly transformed into an olympic athlete, long-jumping his way from the curb, over the puddle in his path, as he crosses the street
– the fact that the strictly regulated parking at Finch station is a complete free-for-all once snow blankets those crisp yellow lines

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