Not just a word

Home. Candy canes. Moosehead. Rum punches. Viable transport systems. Turkey dinners. Mashed potatoes. Loonies and Toonies. Books. Small parks to read books in. Castro hats. Green shoes with white stripes. Individuality. Friends- my dawgs, my girls - the centres of my universe. Respect. Lazy afternoons. Basements. Ultimate Frisbee. Concerts. The free bread at Eastside Mario's. Intelligent Girls. Impromptu beatbox/rhyme sessions with my boys. Caring, concerned strangers. Queen St. shopping days. Grassroots organisations. Love. Perspective changing professors. Witty t-shirts. Beer on patios. Leafs games on TV. Columbia jackets. Bubble tea at QQs in Hamilton. All day poker games. Women's rights. Chantal. Haagen Daz Almond Bars. Late night study sessions. Du Mauriers. Summer colds. Nice people. Subway sandwiches. The Subway, too. Mushroom hunting. Fresh snow that has not been stepped on. Volunteering. Underground emcees. Vietnamese food. Real bars. Second Cup Peach Mango Fruizzis. Suburbia. Hugs. Peace. Shivering hands. Bar-hopping. Political awareness. E-lectric dance nights. Snow. Tolerant people. Secret Santa gifts. Mary Jane. Readily available suppliers of aforementioned intoxicants. Beastie Boys infested playlists. Snow covered sidewalks. Orange leaves mashed into grey slush. Genuine smiles. Forest treks in the middle of winter. Jazz festivals. Freedom. Massages. Bagels! Anime nights. The corner-most back seat on the bus. I-Pod parties. Trees. 4 am pizza slices for a buck. Home.