(Drawn from notes in my personal journal.)
1.
At the end of the afternoon, I crossed Spadina and paused on the east side to inspect a photo I’d just made of an elderly Chinese woman walking past with a cane. A younger guy jumped in front of the camera, unaware that I was viewing, not shooting. He was joking around and wanted to get in a shot. I looked up from my camera. He was maybe in his mid-thirties. He looked homeless, like he’d been living rough for a long time. We got talking.
His name is Raymond Joseph Robichaud and he was born near St. John NB to a French Canadian mother and Irish/Scottish father, so he is a self-described mongrel. He asked if I could spare some change; he needed money for art supplies. Seriously, he said. My alcohol’s already taken care of—and he pulled a mickey from his pocket to show me. See? I’m all set. But what I’d really like right now is to draw something.
I gave him $10.
Thanks man.
So you do street art? You have a tag?
Lemme show you something I just did.
He walked me up the street towards the LCBO, pointing out the markers he’d used up and thrown away. I surmised he’d been drawing on the sidewalk while panhandling in front of the liquor store until he’d made enough for his mickey. He showed me what he’d done, in red and green marker, like a Christmas decoration. It was a stylized version of the word “Love,” a peace sign, and it was signed “Guido.” He lay on the ground behind it and I took his photo.
Raymond said he moves around a lot.
I don’t doubt it.
I asked if he ever made it to the west coast. They have a good graffiti scene on the west coast.
Yeah, he hitch-hiked out there once. First, he hitch-hiked to Windsor, which was a complete non-starter, so he came back to Toronto and started out again. Once, he woke up, and there was a moose with its giant head in the door of his tent, breathing steam like a dragon. Another time, he had to climb a tree to get away from three wolves. He kept poking at them with a big stick.
I told him about my daughter, who lives in Thunder Bay, and was hit by a bear while driving at night. She didn’t hit the bear; it hit her. Barrelled across the highway and straight into her car.
Yeah, I was in Thunder Bay once. Stayed in a motel and even had some fun with a lady there. But I lost my wallet. My money. My ID. Everything. I went to the bus station and begged the driver to get me back to Toronto. It was winter time and he was making the run with an empty bus so he said sure, get on. I don’t know what I’d do if it weren’t for nice people along the way.
We’d been walking south on Spadina. He stopped and said his art supplies were in the other direction. We shook hands. He said thanks and peace and we parted company.
2.
On the way home, I popped into the LCBO one minute before closing and picked up four cans of cider, then went upstairs to Longo’s for a case of fizzy coconut water and a bag of chips. In the next block along Bloor, just before Church, a man fell off a stone bench and onto the stone sidewalk. There’s always a lot of pedestrian traffic along that stretch, but no one appeared to notice. I stepped to the other side of the bench and stared down at the man. He lay on his back staring at the sky, shirt scooched up to his armpits so his belly was exposed.
Hey pal, you took a tumble off the bench.
He half grinned and muttered incoherently.
I was worried maybe you hurt yourself. You okay?
Yeah. And more incoherent mumbling. He was hammered.
You gonna be able to get back up?
Yeah. And more incoherent mumbling.
I paused, wondering what to do next. Do I call 311 and see if the city will send somebody? He’s not in medical distress so 911 is inappropriate. I felt vaguely helpless. Vaguely impotent.
I looked left and right, then walked away.