Before I left Toronto to return to Halifax for my second to last academic semester, I made sure to do three things: have at least one more order of beef fried rice noodles from Swatow, hug our cat, Romeo and scour Queen Street West for the elusive leather jacket.
I think this time I really did it. On my last stop, a place appropriately called House of Vintage, I found this size small motojacket. To think now that I passed it by without a second glance the first time I saw it, hanging on the racks amongst worn Harley Davidson’s fit for a man so broad I can only dream of having shoulders as wide, feels like I came dangerously close to missing out on possibly the best relationship I’ll ever have.
Granted I had to pay for it, but if I’ve learned anything in my 23 years of life it’s that true love will cost ya.