I love singing. I sing all the time. Enough that my parents have a 'No Singing Before Noon' rule in the house that my brothers put up, because they thought I was too cheery in the morning.

I used to be a morning person, y'know. I used to get up really, really early every morning, cook myself a single egg (no toast, just an egg) and sit around eating it for half an hour.

I used to go downtown while the city was still bathed in the chill sharp blue of pre-dawn with my dad, and we'd walk to the dump not because it was a particularely nice walk, but because we liked junk.

I remember walking downtown with him, holding his hand (I must have been six or so at the time) and going down to this little restaurant on the side of the highway. We'd always order two pieces of toast and I'd always get a gingerale. Canadian Dry gingerale. Always. I never remember ever getting anything else.

It's a real estate office now.

It was a nice little restaurant.

Before that place, we used to go to this restaurant called Mike's, I believe, that was right down the end of Baker Street. It was very well hidden, which is probably why it never did very good. You had to go down three flights of stairs to the place. It was a house originally, I think, because it looked like one and it was nestled hugging the side of the hill next to the railroad tracks.

A big old dull golden yellow and brown house with a veranda on three sides.

And toast.

Always toast.

Before&After