Everyone hates what they love sometimes. Every dream is darkly lit and uninspired some days. Every shiny thing gets dented and broken in time.

In Toronto, I felt the loss and fatigue of the road. I felt it secretly. At the perfect vegan hot spot where we had supper. At the rainy streetlights where pretty people waited, hurried, waited. At the microphone on the low stage. At the bar where I waited for things to end.

My typewriter, reliable and loyal, put up with it all too. We drove three hours west after that show out into the darkness of the 401. I knew I’d love it all again tomorrow.

"Waywords" is supported by the Nova Scotia Department of Culture & Heritage