I have spoken rather lightly, more than a few times, about the temperatures here, over the course of this winter: more with a sense of curiosity and interest than anything else. After all, this is not exactly what I am used to. In fact, this kind of cold is not exactly what Rob has been used too, either – it is outside the boundaries of her experience, also.
All of which has been brought home to Torontonians rather tragically, these past few days. Yesterday, a three year old boy wandered out of his grannie’s apartment at around four in the morning, wearing nothing but his diaper, a tee-shirt, and a pair of boots. After a frantic search, his frozen, lifeless little body was found, just around the corner, by the side of a house. And last week a disabled man, dropped off by a cab late one night, was found frozen to death in his wheelchair, outside his home.
It was -21 last night, when I made my way home from our office downtown; -34 with the wind chill. The arctic blast, when the doors of the streetcar swung open to let another huddled mass of TTC-riders in, was shocking.
It’s cold out there, and for some people, it has been lethal.