Bloor Street

A man in a plaid cap and long overcoat pushes a loaded ushcart down the street. he stops at a recycling bin and methodically inspects its content, taking out what he can salvage. His thick beard is stained by time and tobacco, and enormous glasses perch precariously on the bridge of his nose. Having finished with the bin, he proceeds onward, his gait determined but unhurried. His slogan might as well be that of the moving company whose van I passed on my way home: accurate work, reasonable rates.