By the time I got to Yonge and Eg, I realised that most of the buildings were dark. The only restaurant open was Philthy McNasty's, and beyond that, only an appt building and a convenience store had power. Cops were directing traffic. The building where physio is was closed, entirely. I phoned, but their automated voice system was off-line - nothing answered.
I'd planned to walk home after physio, to make up for the missed workout, so I went wandering southwards.
I passed more cops, some ambulances, and a number of cordoned off sewer grates. The air reeked of sulphur, and I started getting nervous about the smokers walking down the street. Based on overheard chatter, I was the only one who knew that gas lines are spiked with sulphur.
I walked on down to Yonge and St. Clair, grabbed fruit for snacks for the week, and hit Fionn MacCools, my favourite pub. I'd been thinking it might be nice to end up with the place so full I ended up having to share a table with a pretty girl, or sit at the bar to the same result. The place was full, so I ended up at the bar next to a drunk guy.
Dinner was great (a new menu item, a beef pie served in a cast iron skillet in a red wine sauce), along with two pints of guiness, a pint of smithwicks, and a black velvet. All in a little under two hours. Good beef pie.
When I left the pub I was shivering. By the time I got home, I'd given up on the gloves and unzipped my hoody. The walk was a little longer than it takes me when I jog to the gym, but not much.
Soon, there may be bed.