10 Reasons I Like Toronto, and Why I'll Still Never Move There: II

The border agent looks at me incredulously when I announce my reason for entering the country.

"So ... you're going all the way to Toronto ... to ... do homework?"

"Yes." I reply.

"Why?"

"I had the day off."

"What's wrong with doing your homework in Buffalo?"

"... Have you been to Buffalo?" I ask. "I like to get out when I can."

He laughs and, miraculously, permits me to enter Canada.

Numero Dos Reason I Like Toronto:

I go to a coffee shop on Spadina. It's in the same building as an awesome organization that rents out hourly office and conference space to artists and other interesting people who do interesting things.

I order a macchiato. What I receive is, in fact, a macchiato. As in, delicious espresso stained with perfectly-creamy steamed milk, served in a tiny cup. As in, contains no caramel.

I sit at one of the communal tables (I love communal tables, because I love spying on people). At this table, there are nine other people, and no fewer than:

• 4 MacBooks,
• 5 iPhones,
• 1 indie filmmaker pitching his film to a handsome someone wearing a fur hat with ear-flaps,
• 1 man taking notes in a book of industrial architecture,
• 1 girl with hipster bangs simultaneously knitting and reading the obituaries,
• and 1 fellow working on writing some kind of script.

... And Why I'll Still Never Live There.

I bought gas at a PetroCanada, where the advertised gas price was 122.5. I have no idea what that means. Is that per ... liter? How much is a liter? Is that per kilosomething? Whatever it is, I don't like it. It feels expensive.