The Backpack

On my way to Yorkville, I had an adventure. When the train came, I jumped onto it, leaving my 20 year old leather backpack behind. Hundreds of dollars of art supplies, my jacket, the $400. prescription eye glasses that had been a birthday present. Finally at the next station, I ran up the stairs and over to the stairs down to catch the train back. Three endless minutes waiting for the train, then the ride back. I was going crazy inwardly. What a dumb thing to do! At Ossington I looked, nothing, and then waited for the train to move on and... no backpack on the bench. Oh, dear beautiful Torontonians, please. Ran up multiple flights of stairs to the ticket booth. As I went to ask the TTC ticket taker, I saw it on the floor behind him. Geez, I LOVE this city! People here are so gracious. Thank you, whoever you are, for your honesty, care, grace.

(The pic from the Roots website; mine looks a lot like this, since it's really never been used, though it is softer, and the tassels on the zippers are long gone.)

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