 |
| Saturday morning, 7:15 a.m. After
a hard all-nighter of batting cages, go-karts, and
blowing the undead tar out of computer-generated zombies,
#21,108 and I herd the local boys home and the
out-of-towners into their respective hotel beds before
heading out to one of the one-hundred and twenty-seven
damned-near identical Tim Horton's dotting the GTA
(Greater Toronto Area for you foreigners) "Double-double and a bavarian," I say as we stand in line behind some Saturday morning hockey dad who has completely forgotten (if he ever knew) how to count change. "Double-double what? Bavarian who?" #21,108 asks, and I wonder if sleep deprivation is new to him. But no, it couldn't be - I remember who he's shacking up with. "Double cream, double sugar. A Bavarian has vanilla pudding inside and hard chocolate icing outside." "Coffee and donuts!?" He sounds incredulous, and looks a little green. "After last night? Are you insane?" It's a possibility, but I'll be damned if I let him know it. "Breakfast of champions," I counter, leaving the questions of my mental health out of it. He remains skeptical. But then, he didn't believe me when I told him to wear a coat, either. New Yorkers --go fig. |