My short-story odyssey began last night after leaving Base Gallery at Ossington & Queen. Walking eastward along Queen I came across a suspicious looking elderly woman who was taking huge sheets of paper down off streetposts and putting them in her bag.

Looking around I notice that these big printed sheets adorn quite a handful of the posts along Queen. They aren't posters for some alt rock gig, nor political rants, nor ads for a new free daily newspaper... they're (very) short stories.

Continuing along past Bathurst and on to Spadina and still more stories. Aside from some internal bitching about those that have already beed torn or tagged, I wonder who anonymous writer could be.

Almost every other streetpost holds a different tale of life in the city. Each recounts the tale of an encounter with a stranger - seemingly, all in the area. Today I had the chance to read a couple more, and snap a clearer photo (see top image!), so I thought I'd share one of them for those who aren't in the area...

Umbrella

It's pouring rain and the streetcar is nowhere to be seen. I have no umbrella and I'm soaked. Standing at the end of the line, I try to retain some dignity while I drip into my own shoes. A businessman joins the line behind me. He's impeccable and dry under his umbrella. Without addressing me, he extends his umbrella to shield me from the downpour. I am suddenly overcome by emotion, so unexpected and gentle is this act. I keep my head down and stare at my sopping shoes to prevent tears spilling down my already wet face. I am barely able to mumble "Thank you." After several silent minutes, the streetcar finally arrives; we board, and I blend into the masses not even knowing what his face looks like.

If you enjoyed that one, head on down to pretty much anywhere on the Queen West strip -- before the April rain washes it all away.

(Or before that lady turns them all into her new wallpaper.)