Good night, Toronto

Night time in the city is smoke and sirens
Carried on a cool breeze.
Groups of twenty-somethings marching raucously between locales,
Weaving between cars, drivers leaning on horns,
Racing to beat hordes of pedestrians to intersections.
Music, fast-paced and infectious,
Drifting tantalizingly from doors opened by burly bouncers
Square-shouldered and solemn.
Turn the corner; you’ll see a group of teenagers smoking a joint,
Walk down the street and see couples lying in parks,
Lone strangers blowing furls of tobacco smoke in their direction.
The air is heavy, a heady scent of sweat and gasoline, cigarettes and weed,
A cacophony of consumption that extends ‘til the first hour of sunlight.

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