I caught a rogue streetcar the other day.
It approached as I stood at the St. Clair/Bathurst bus stop. I'd never seen a streetcar that far north.
Instead of speeding by, it slowed. Stopped. The doors opened. The streetcar was completely empty.
"Just heading to King," said the driver. He wasn't technically on duty, but he picked me up anyway. Just because. I don't know how to explain it, but "just because" isn't a Toronto phenomenon, or at least in my experience.
We swept down a traffic-free Bathurst street. "Where do you want to be dropped off?" the driver asked. I was filled with delight in experiencing Bathurst street from a perspective I'd never had before. Even after eleven years of living in Toronto, I still get giddy when the city opens up to me in weird and wonderful ways. And now I was being given my choice of drop-off point? It was too much. I hopped out at Bloor gibbering something about him making my day.
I went to a poetry reading afterwards and saw people, and made conversation. But that streetcar ride, now that was something else.