Boxing Day is my least favourite day of the year, a double Sunday of messes that add yet another statutory holiday between now and garbage pick-up. This was the Sunday of ere, when everything but the corner stores were closed.
The Sunday of today (since 1986, as I recall) is a day of mass consumption for those who still work MF95, a day when people excuse themselves from the Xmas dinner table to wait overnight in a lineup to save $200 on a new phone.
Yesterday I put together my box of charitable items, and then another because I was feeling either detached or generous. At some point the rains let up, enough for a walk; a route so familiar I was halfway through it before I realized what I was doing.
