First snow of the Toronto
year. It's about goddamn time.
I am celebrating by drinking frozen beer in a warm house while wearing bermuda shorts, much to the amazement of my roommates.
Ever since I brought them a typewriter, though, they have been much more accepting of my unusual habits. I provide one piece of scrap paper per day, stealing it away in the wee hours of the morning to read the perverted nonsensical ramblings of bored, tired professionals. I figure that if I will never get to be one of them, I can at least allow myself to peek in on their spontaneous musings.
So far, I have learned that "shawn likes bananas", "pete is a jerkface," and on top of all this, "shawn shagged pete's mom and she loved every minute of it." So far, Valerie has been silent, Valerie the writer. Perhaps she is too good for the typewriter and I will have to lure her with strategically placed jam on the keyboard.