I saw Waldo today. Waldo is a familiar face from high school — not a familiar friend mind you, but a familiar face. In fact, though his name isn’t really Waldo, everybody calls him that because he bears an uncanny ressemblance to Waldo from Where’s Waldo? (Wally for you Brits)

He was surrounded by his posse: a ragtag assortment of ghetto-fabulous white homeboys and girls long overdue to outgrow that whole goth phase they pick up so well way back in high school.

‘So what are you up to?’, I asked him.

He paused, as if wondering whether the reply, ‘I’ve been living with my homies, eating packets of ketchup, and spending whatever I swindle from me mum and dad on booze and smokes’, would impress me or not.

‘I’ve…er…been working at Midway. But I’ll be going to Algonquin College soon’, he chose instead.

I slowly backed away and feigned an enthusiastic wave goodbye.

It’s sad y’know? Real sad. Some people never grow the fuck up.