As I sit here in a Kensington Market cafe in Toronto, I'm reminded of why I'm drawn to this downtown hub resplendent with tasty empanadas, dogs off leash, random art on the sidewalks.
Kensington emanates an energy I have rarely seen in Toronto, or any other city for that matter. Maybe I'm biased because I used to live five minutes from the Market, but I recall many newcomers revelling in all that is Kensington.
It's the smell of grilled fish. It's reggae seeping from storefronts. It's the waft of marijuana smoke coursing above our heads. It's a smile from a stranger, it's the yippee from a kid who spots that iconic Garden Car.
When I'm looking to get some writing done, I don't always head to my work-sharing space. Rather, I walk 30 minutes south to the Market where I can feel the bustle of a community unlike any other in the city. And more often than not, I'm filled with inspiration that tickles me every time, like it's a feeling I'm experiencing for the first time.
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