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About Adelaide

I see her—legs like a fuckin’ dream, leanin’ on a busted lamppost. She’s chewin’ gum, loud as shit, poppin’ it like she’s tryna piss me off. I’m like, “Yo, how much?” She squints, sizes me up—prolly thinks I’m a broke-ass loser. “50,” she says, flat. I’m pissed, man! 50 bucks? For what, a quickie? I’m thinkin’, “I’m not a charity case here!”—straight outta *Social Network* vibes. But I’m horny, so I shrug, “Fine, whatever.”

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Yo, I gotta mention my secret hideout – High Park near Bloor St. It’s my spot to clear my head when the dating app world gets too cray. I sit on a bench, watch the autumn leaves, and sometimes think, “Is this it? Is this our life?” And I swear, every single day’s a damn chess game on these streets.

Blue Jays' bats go silent late in rubber-match loss to Guardians