No. 6 King Street

On a recent vacation I went to southern Ontario.
Waterloo, to be more specific.

I always find it odd that after 30 years of living on the west coast, 4000+ kilometers away from where I grew up—that I feel with each visit that Thomas Wolfe was wrong; and that you can go home again.  Of course it helps greatly that my family and friends are still holding down the fort. Coming back to them always feels like climbing into a warm bath, welcome and soothing.

No. 6 King Street is where my longtime friend Kenton has resided for more than 30 years.  It's one of those main street stores with apartments up above… look up - waaay up and there's Kenton's place.
It always feels great to come back and find it same but different.
Different in small increments; new healthy-for-you food in the fridge, a beer glass or two I haven't seen before, an arrangement of pictures in the hallway.

Kenton always brings my bike from the storage area (down all those stairs) when I arrive. He likes bikes, does Kenton; and got this old Schwinn for me to pedal around town. Sweet Schwinn. And sweet Kenton.