It’s a Saturday afternoon in the summer. Paul’s in Toronto; looking to move to a place both bigger and cheaper.
Apartment hunting, he says, especially bargain apartment hunting in Toronto, is too often a fruitless endeavour.
In the search for one’s next home, Paul feels, one must wade through the crap speckling the intestines of the Toronto market. And mark his word, there’s a lot of shit out there; he’s got his rubber boots on.
A Kafka accented one bedroom basement apartment with prison cell sized windows, anyone? It’ll cost you a grand.
Interested in a two bedroom featuring thirty-year-old purple shag carpeting as it’s only upgrade in 100 years? It’ll run you a cool $1,200 plus utilities.
By comparison, Paul’s lady and Paul, for example, could be paying for a mortgage in St. Thomas – his hometown, some 200 km southwest of Toronto – for what he pays in rent; or so his friends paying a mortgage and living in St. Thomas tell him.
Not only is Toronto’s rental market out of control, centrally located accommodations for purchase are similarly absurd.
Paul’s been to an open house where cellar ripened salami greased his back and more than three dozen Jesus, Mary and Joseph statues stared him down – an unrenovated house from the 1950s that would later sell for a half million dollars.
Of course, these prices are probably justified.
Why wouldn’t you pay a premium to live in a “trendy” neighbourhood where two people were shot this past week at a local pub and where a girl was shot in the adjacent subway stop last winter?
Paul responds, “you wouldn’t!”
He’s moving in a week.
* As you might have guessed this was written a while ago – as best Paul can remember, a summer Saturday. He’s happy in his new home.