Life’s been pretty good, overall, since I shook the dust of Scarborough off my shoes, and returned to my old Danforth stomping grounds. It’s such a treat to just walk up the street to a good restaurant, or to pop into a local bar to hear friends playing. I no longer have to pack my purse with overnight supplies before heading out to do groceries, or to visit my chums in the downtown core.
Sometimes it seems like you can’t throw a rock in this city without hitting a musician. (And if you’re throwing a beer, the musician in the crowd will be the one to catch it.)
I have lived on a beautiful, quiet, residential street in Scarborough for 15 years this month. Up the street, just a stagger away, is a busy local pub called the Black Dog, where I’ve seen many a friend play, and drank many a cold pint.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 