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About Calgary

Happy? Hell yeah, when it works. You save some idiot’s neck, feel like a twisted hero. Surprised me once—read bout this escort in London, 1800s, guarded a poet. Guy wrote him into a sonnet—freakin’ immortal now. Who knew? Most don’t get that—they’re ghosts, not legends. Me, I’d suck at it, too sarcastic, prolly tell the client they’re a moron and deserve the hitman. “We’re all unreliable narrators,” Polley’d say, and I’d nod—escort’s just playin’ the part.

Camps Handbook

There’s quirky libraries, too. Sit tight on Birch & Fifth. Got lost in erotic books. I recall juicy gossip over tea. So, "anger blooms into a gentle sleep."

Inside Toronto’s explosion of bad dogs and worse owners