Same Shit, Different Patio

If I were to draw a triangle connecting Toronto's three most affluent area's one of the three points would undoubtedly hit Faux Hill, one would be centred somewhere in Rosedale and the third point would probably be at the corner of Cumberland and Belair in the heart of the city's tony [sic] Yorkville.
And so there this intreped Faux Hillary found himself having coffee with a long lost pal debating the merits of bisexuality. One would expect that, being a bit out of my Faux Hill league, a different patio would imply a different set of people to watch. Not so in Toronto - a city of 5 million, but where Yorkville is an extension of Forest Hill, only with a big Holt Renfrew at its centre and not Kitsch Boutique.

Random People I ran into:
The Pussy Posse - not content to sit all night at the Faux Hill Village Starbucks, they spend their day's checking out tail in Yorkville. I suppose its better then the potential underage tail of the Village. Thank god for small miracles.
Bold Sharon - the sister, making an unusual Yorkville run, "but I'm not a DINK [Dual Income No Kids], I swear."
My neighbour, Lisa Golden-blatt, stern, stein [insert jewish name] part of the over forty, "I wear Sevens like its my job because I have no job" set.
And my first year frat boy friend Dave McWaspy Last Name and his brother Pete, he's going to camp (he's 22) and then his father arranged a job for him at a marketing firm (but really my hatred for his ilk is perhaps best reserved for another posting, its really too lovely out to be bitter); however to quote my friend Kitty, after fooling around with him, "he has a pencil-sized dick."

Thank God for small miracles.