We arrive at Pearson International. Xabi A. says my transfer fee cost the same as the Terminal 3 extension. My press agent says she'll get back to me on that. Call Paris. Line busy.
Karim, the little scamp, decides we should forgo the limos and instead take Toronto Transit Commission's Aiport Rocket express bus to Kipling station (see above). An older man in Haiwaian shirt at the back of the bus says he thinks he recognizes me from Crisco commercial. A fifteen year old girl with a Sporting Lisbon shirt flips me the bird. Kaka hands out some religious tracts. We stop at Apache Burger for breakfast.
Subway delay at Ossington. Raul steals a TTC map from under the plastic guard, rolls it up and puts it in his backpack.
Arrive at the King Edward late because the southbound train stopped at Bloor for twenty minutes. Iker Casillas says I should try a 'double double' at the piss and shit coloured coffee place across the street. I pour half of it out on the sidewalk. Return to order six Old Fashioned Glazed Donuts. We ask a man in a suit where we can find a twenty-four hour bodega to buy some rum. He laughs and laughs.
Benzema wants to see the dinosaurs at the Royal Ontario Museum. He is crying. Pepe holds his hand and says he should go Toronto Zoo instead. Karim says no, throws a tantrum in the hotel lobby. We pile in a cab and go to the ROM. Kaka drones on and on about the Dead Sea Scroll exhibit. Drenthe and I leave, deciding we'll come back tomorrow night before the game as Friday nights are half off.
Drenthe and I wait in line for forty-five minutes for a seat on the patio at the Victory cafe. He orders the cask ale, the Durham Hop Head IPA. I order a Creemore. We talk about our favourite Sunset Rubdown track. Waitress gives us half off because she likes my American Apparel glasses. Arrive late for training after we waited half an hour for the Dufferin bus only for three come by one at the same time.
To be continued?