My expectations are high. It almost feels unfair. Just as my fellow patrons expect me to be some sort of fancy theatre critic, I sit in a fancy theatre and I expect a fancy show.
To return to a Canada still starved of this normalcy feels wrong; acrid; frustrating. When I get back to Toronto (or, let’s be real, North York), I’ll simply have to tell my friends and colleagues about the magic of a packed theatre, rows and rows of masks, applause, closeness. They won’t get to feel it themselves for a few months yet, it seems