Jailtime?

"Hey guys - wanna get hit by cars? AUUHOOWAHHEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Scrib's laugh provided a vision of a cackling, bearded baby as he bolted into the heat of Toronto's rush hour traffic. In Toronto, you can usually hear disgruntled drivers at any given time - but not to this degree. Scrib dove, jumped and twisted his way through an accelerating, blaring aluminum onslaught.

He waved to us with a smile from the other side as he caught us breath, while we waited for the flashing white man to wave us onward across the street.

Curb Shame: (n.)
/kəːb ʃeɪm/
The embarrassment and loss of self-worth one feels when other pedestrians ignore the rules of street lights and continue to cross the road unguided. 

 We crossed and deposited ourselves in the liquor store. Amdist staring at the liquor, my hangover decided to team up with the shitty feelings the speed had provided, and the two now grinding nails into my guts. I decided I`d head back to the bridge where we slept and wallow in self-pity for a while. 

I made it back and tried to nap, but instead spent several hours rolling around in self-induced agony. I decided it wasn't really worth it to spend all day there, so I grabbed my pack and dragged my feet towards Queen. I had to force myself not to lose the lunch I hadn't eaten yet. 

I found the boys at Alexandria Park, hanging out with Bear and his Traincore friends - of all people. 

"Fuck. Now there's two didgeridoos?" Bear's deep voice was intimidating, but I couldn't tell if he was joking or not so I nodded and played him a riff on the didge just to irritate him. I still couldn't tell if he was joking or not when he told me he'd break my didge over my head if I didn't stop, so I stopped playing and sat down next to Scrib who hadn't said a word yet. I asked if he was baked.

He looked up at me. "I'm going to jail, man." 

What? Apparently, in the time I'd been taking a nap, the group had been approached by a bunch of cops. Scrib had given the cops a fake name. They hadn't believed him - despite the fact that most of the Traincore kids had either given the cops fake names, or no identification at all. Cops always seemed to have it out for Scrib - why, we couldn't say. He didn't look any more like a criminal than the others sitting at the circle.

Anyway, after a few phone calls and computer searches, somehow the cops had discovered Scrib's real name - Scrib! They searched him for alleged identity fraud and found the flap of drugs that we'd been given by the city worker. The cops hadn't been impressed. His court date was in two weeks.

"I'm going to jail, man!"