On any given night you can find yourself at the mercy of a late night streetcar, or even worse, bus. All the Normals are sleeping tight by this time, and your $2.25 will eventually get you a fabulous variety of empty seats and the inevitable position of kind listener for the lonely driver, now making his eighth run up and down King Street.
Jesus. Waiting for your knight in maroon armour to show up is an endurance test in itself, thanks to the streetcar mirages that rise up like ghosts from the pavement. Thanks to overhead crosswalks and oil slick reflections, every Audi or Mini Cooper on the road looks like your saviour until the headlights get closer and dash your dreams.
Of course, at this time of the night the majority of vehicles have lights on top of them-cabs, cops and paramedics, all waiting to deal with last call in their own unique way. From emergency vomit stops at the Esso to taking someone down to Cherry Beach for a good ol’ boy-style beating, the folks with the lights on top know their evening has just begun.
Unlike you. Your evening’s over. Spilled pints, broken glass and misunderstandings turned to heartbreak have left you buried but breathing at the corner of Queen and Bathurst, and there sure are a whole lot of teens dressed in black spikes around here. Transfer in one hand, the new copy of eye magazine in the other, a hardback single chair on the left side of the car will have to make due in lieu of a bed for at least another 20 minutes.
By this time the streetcar is a whale, with taxis zipping by in the right-hand lane like pilot fish. Careful, though- these pilot fish pack a mighty wallop if you don’t look both ways on your way out.
And what if the car never shows up? Never has a more horrible thought been tabled, but it happens, my friend. In that case, you begin doing the math on exactly how far you are from your pillow, and whether the thermometer has ducked down into the negative digits. You could take a cab, but you’ve already paid your fare, and those bastards rarely make a yellow light if the damage is going to be under 10 bucks. You give it another five minutes, but what is time when you have no watch and nothing to keep your mind off the fact that your scarf decided to stay the night at Sneaky Dee’s? Now you’re at the brink, and like a dealer knows his addict, the streetcar shows up just before you throw in the towel. Man, I’ve been here for like an hour! Whatever, you’ll be back tomorrow night.
