Fauna of Central Toronto

The "cringe-reflex". A contortion of the face and sudden, involuntary collapse of the upper eyelid. Followed by a convulsive one-eighty jerk of the neck. A feeling of repulsion lingers.

I am walking home past the usual cantankerous old white folk. The sun is on the demise. See the subway sign, and my eyes fall upon the bench just outside the automatic doors.

Moby Dick lies on said bench. Moby, the she-bum; naked belly basking in the last, unfortunate rays of sunlight. She is the matron bum of the Spadina-Bloor intersection. Layers upon layers of fat, coalescing into one planetary formation. This april evening she was trying desperately - well, effortlessly - to drive her gut temperature up to an optimum. She knows it will rain soon.

Please, I do not intend to make light of this situation, but let me go on. Her pillar-like legs are calloused and purple, from annual exposure to the harshest of winters. I cannot begin to fathom her tragic existence, but I see it, see her, Moby; the guy with the big trench coat and boots, with the strange gait; the black bum with the headphones and shopping bags; the younger girl who reads books outside scotia, asking for money in return for "good karma", etc. There is a large and seemingly growing homeless fauna, with new species erupting everyday from the concrete and asphalt expanses of Toronto, pregnant with the seeds of misfortune and injustice. Crumbling and decomposing, these neanderthals seek safety and warmth.

Rummaging through our green bins: Procyon lotor and Homo Sapien. Post-modern competition. Darwin never saw this coming.