burning down the 495.

friday morning.
5:41 am.

i couldn't sleep. my anxiety was acting up again... was it the list of numerous christmas gifts i had to get ? or me wanting to be in Ottawa? ... i don't know. But for whatever reason i was tossing and turning, i thank god for my inability to rest assured that night.

I had mearly started to lay my head when the sound of a fire truck siren had entered my dream. I overheard a loud manly voice yell "GET THE PEOPLE UPSTAIRS OUTSIDE, NOW!"... by then, my eyes had opened, in disbelief, as flashing lights and sirens layed beneath my window. I hesitantly took a peak, muttered an 'OH FUCK' and quickly put on my bathrobe. I rushed into the hallway to see if we had been the cause. Did someone leave a candle burning? Was the stove left on? Was it the idiots downstairs who perhaps left a joint burning between their couch pillows?

All I could see was smoke.
Thick, black smoke.

I couldn't see our living room, our kitchen.
I couldn't see Phoebe.

I then ran into Tanya's room screaming 'TANYA, THERE'S A FIRE IN OUR APARTMENT!' Her beady eyes looked at me, as if I had yet pulled another I think I'm dying moment...Matt, then awoke from his peaceful slumber, scratching himself as he looked around, confused. Once it sunk in, we rapidly grabbed what was of importance (Phoebe & clothes) and booted the hell out of our beloved 3 bedroom apartment.

Running down our flight of stairs will be a memory unlike no other. The inhalation was unbearable, it all seemed too much like a movie, one with outstanding special effects. Run, run, run. our little feet made it to the street. we cheated death, or so it seemed, because at times like these- the circumstances are unpredictable.

We crossed the street to where a friend lives. We stood in silence as the smoke poured out of our windows. The sight was unbelievable. 7 fire trucks gathered to block off bloor street, the whole neighborhood was awake. we were more than awake. we were lucky. a few more minutes in that smoke and i don't want to think what could of happened. Had the firemen not put out the fire that quickly, i would not able to speak, nor write.

New Generation Sushi had had a kitched fire- that was the explanation we received. No further details on what started the fire... scary- because this means it could happen again.

After numorous crying spells, stressful breakdowns, money worries and sleepless nights- no apology was made. The only thing we get is a sign praising how fucking good their sushi is. Topped by another sign asking their beloved customers into welcoming their soon to be brand new renovations.

Clients had the nerve to write things like 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger' and 'we miss your california rolls!'

In hate and disgust, i then proceeded to write on this message board of love.

'THANKS FOR THE SMOKE DAMAGE BASTARDS.'

You will never know how scary this feels, until it happens to you.
We're dealing with it. We know we're extreemely lucky. We're lucky to have each other.
Fuck the world and all it's senseless people.
Give a homeless person your extra dime, because karma will come and bite you right back in the ass.
Sushi on Bloor is far more better than you'll ever be.