The crazy guy who puts out his hand for a high-five as he approaches me on his bicycle on the sidewalk, swipes it away for a brief "psych!" moment, then puts it back so our pinkies just brush as he goes by.

Last night, I walked the three miles or so downtown to meet friends for dinner. The strong wind pushed at my back, impelling me on. Leaves rushed by, swirled around my feet, and scattered across the road like celebratory confetti. The sky above was a moody white-gray, smudged with darker gray. As I walked, a wet darkness crept over the city and headlights bloomed.

Yesterday my housemate and I walked to Sunday evening meeting. Yes, it's three miles from our house, but we felt like some exercise. Sometimes I get tired of the TTC, and driving in the city is an exercise in aggravation.

As we came to a particular intersection, we heard a man shouting. Clusters of people were gathered round the street corners staring. We pinpointed the source of the noise, a basement door entrance set below the sidewalk, guarded by a metal fence. A disheveled man was screaming over and over, "Aah! Aah! Aah! Call the police! Call 911!"