The date is circled, and all be told, the location too.
I’ll be casually late, after watching him take his place by the window, near the pink wire piggy
The 505 will screech to a halt, and I’ll hop off five feet away, and 15 minutes before the hour,
But I’ll say the TTC trip planner got traffic wrong and it took forever.
A few hairs will be planned strays — By my nape and around the ears, I think.
I haven’t seen him in forever,
And I hope I won’t drool all over the butcher block round, as he’s expecting.
Two hours to go . . . but who’s counting?