Monday lunch @ Tim Horton's.
In accordance with vacation irony, our last day in Toronto was sunny and warm.
The checkout time for our hotel was at 1 PM, so we took our time packing. And for the first time in our trip, Alex finally washed his hair, which was caked with nicotine, gravy and absinth residue. All weekend he'd complain about how long we took to get ready - but it's because we actually had showering as part of our routine.
"I wash it about once every three days, man. Otherwise it'd get dry and unspectacular," he explained. Holy shit, it's just a matter of time before he starts using an eyebrow pencil.
Paul and Rain took off after lunch. I had a late flight, so I tagged along with Alex for a photoshoot he was doing for a magazine article about carbs. I wasn't too keen about helping him and his coworkers haul a cast-iron bathtub, which would serve as the main prop. That fucker was heavy ... didn't help that we didn't realize we were carrying it the wrong way until we were done.
But I thoroughly enjoyed helping them place cold spaghetti noodles on a topless Brooke Burke look-alike as she lay in the tub. I'm assuming she was the reason he washed his hair, that filthy split-ends-fearing bastard. Can't blame him though, I'd shampoo my hair for her too.
I've got to hand it to Alex - it's a great way to make a living. The photoshoots for my client involve shiny automobiles, old men, and waking up before dawn to get the best lighting. Car advertising blows.
On the way to the airport, the cab driver gave me the history of Toronto strip joints ("I was there when the whole blowjob thing got started, man. Before that it was just, you know, the hand thingy.") This was then followed by him telling me about how he'd almost picked up a transsexual the previous night at a bar.
"Beautiful, gorgeous face, man. Long, slender legs. Great, big tits out to here," he said, cupping an imaginary set of breasts that apparently would've made steering a car difficult. "If I'da been just a little drunker, I might've gone for it."
"Yeah I can picture you sobering up in a jiffy when the clothes came off though," I replied.
He paused for a moment.
"I don't know man. I'm not into dicks or anything. But this chick was beautiful, man. Amazing tits. No way I could score a bitch like that if she was a real woman. If I was drunk enough, you know, maybe a blowjob. I mean, who can tell right?"
I didn't know how to respond.
"So, did you go to the Taste of Danforth?" I asked.
( Collapse )