It doesn’t have to be in Barrie. It could be in Sudbury or Lansing, but nothing makes you feel more like a loser than walking out of the parking lot of a Holiday Inn. Sidewalks exist only in an academic sense and as you attempt to cross the eight lanes of suburban traffic drivers view you with interest. Is she too poor to afford a Windstar? Is she just back from the methadone clinic? In reality, I am usually on my way to one of those ersatz Mexican restaurants, the kind that feature iceberg lettuce and Frank’s Red Hot sauce.
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