“From cookbooks to science fiction and writer workshops to author panels, our diverse slate of programming offers something for everyone. “The Word On The Street is an opportunity to celebrate and discover Canadian authors and support literacy through a free and accessible event for all ages,” said The Word On The Street Festival Director Heather Kanabe. Visit the festival’s website for more information. The Word On The Street takes place on Sunday, Septemfrom 11 a.m. This annual event continues to celebrate Canadian literacy and provides an opportunity to browse a marketplace that boasts a diverse selection of books and magazines. Bringing booklovers together from all over Ontario, the festival is welcoming new and notable authors to participate in over one hundred special events and workshops. The Word On The Street Toronto, Canada’s largest free outdoor book and magazine festival, returns for its 28th year. New this year: TFO Franco Stage and Indigenous Voices bring diverse perspectives to the festival Even making peanuts, the dishpit seemed the more attractive option.Canada’s largest annual book festival returns with guests includingĭavid Suzuki, Emma Donoghue, Anne Michaels, Ron Sexsmith and more I imagined wearing fitted shirts, tight pants and pointy polished shoes, tiptoeing across the floor with my hand full of dishes, kowtowing to customers. “Another one wants work out on the floor? Your buddy Dave never stopped bugging Maude to see if he could train out front.” I couldn’t tell where my body ended I’d become part of this rocky, roaring wave of sound and sweating bodies. As the mosh pit grew bigger it sucked me up in its undertow and the craziness and I tapped into the mania swirling all around me.
She jumped into the melee, climbed over the swirl of bodies smashing into each other, then let herself be swept along by the crowd, tumbling over the human sea all the way to the foot of the stage.
.jpg "Le Plongeur by Stéphane Larue")
When “Hangar 18” came on, she really went crazy. We had to back up to keep from being sucked into the mosh pit. He has tattoos all the way down to his fingers now, and his hands have grown fatter, hands inscribed with the scars of twenty years in the kitchen, burned daily and gouged by wayward oyster shuckers and subjected to malevolent blades severing tiny chunks of fingertip thousands of shifts spent shelling, peeling, dicing, stirring, gutting, deboning, and chopping the never-ending repetitive handling of foods raw and cooking and cooked the infinite cycle of frying pans and scouring stainless counters with steel wool and industrial-strength degreasers. Bébert’s keeping one eye on the hockey game, and one hand on his big bottle of beer.
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