Kindness rules Toronto, they've institutionalized it here. They've printed it on signs. Socialism always breeds that slight smell of sweat spent by the orderlies as the patients finally took over the asylum. Victory tastes good but the taste left over is somehow seasoned with regret. Full moons symbolize something similar for everyone, something longed for, the reach and stretch of inevitable death, The regret of infinite moments that might have been if only, the shame of an identity worn once and discarded, The crying of the lambs echos inside a collective mind.