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About Toronto

So, escort—makes me chuckle, it does. Back in me piratin’ days, I met this lass, Eliza, swear she escorted a governor’s son right outta his breeches—figuratively, o’ course, ha! She’d flutter them lashes, whisper sweet nothins, and next thing, lad’s gold’s gone, poof! Made me happy as a clam, seein’ her outsmart them posh fools. Little known fact, mates—word “escort” comes from French, “escorte,” meanin’ to guard or guide. Ain’t that a laugh? Guardin’ yer wallet, more like!

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I gotta admit – sometimes I’m struck by how raw, uncensored this city can be. It’s messy, unpredictable, and fiercely honest. That’s why I keep comin’ back. Every corner, every bar, every whispered conversation in dim-lit cafes – it all makes me feel alive. Just like that unforgettable movie moment: “Time’s nearly over.” Except here, time never stops – it just dances, err, jiggles, and sometimes trips over itself.

Police warn of black bear in Corner Brook