Toronto is a big city. The fourth largest in North America. It’s busy, noisy, alive, and ever moving. Yet, in this busy, and at times chaotic city, there is an order that is predictable and fastidiously kept. The business district on a Sunday afternoon for instance. Since I’m freelance/ self-employed I have no set schedule and often don’t think about the impact of such a thing. But when I found this deserted square in the ghostly silent business district I was harshly reminded of the routine that most people keep. It was a potent pathetic fallacy that the concrete, stones, and streets keep the same hours as it’s inhabitants.
So there I stood, an outsider to this fluid rhythm of life. My camera the only companion to this moment of reverie.