A little snowstorm at going-home time tonight. It's sloppy and slick and pretty. Glenn Gould sits on his Front Street bench in fair and stormy weather; though I think he's pulling his hat a little closer tonight. When I get down to Spadina, the snow is wet and fat and flying right into my eyes and I get home with a mascara mess and I look like a sopping wet Alice Cooper.
Meet Glenn Gould. He gives me a nod every morning when I walk by the CBC Broadcast Centre on my way to work.
Some days I wish I could just sit next to him there, quietly, and watch the world go by and not have to talk to anybody.