“Hey, Arnie,” I said this morning. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“According to this Toronto Life story about Torontonians moving to Hamilton, there’s a cute looking little bistro on the street I grew up on, that serves “shakshuka skillets” and “homemade donuts.

“The bad news is… it’s called ‘Berkeley North.'”

Anyhow, this story got me kind of worked up.

The writer lives there now, and I don’t, but the last time I was there, to eat BBQ on what turned out to be the last day Hillbilly Heaven was open, the downtown was horrible.

I didn’t think it was possible for the King Street downtown to look worse than it did when I’d pass it on my way out of town in the early 2000s, having returned again to visit my dying mother and grandmother — but it did.

All the same crappy things were there, like the headshops that I don’t think have changed their window displays since 1985, while the few cool things, like the movie theatres (especially the Broadway), Star Records, the used book store or even Kresge’s, with its pokey lunch counter, and that angry unsold mina bird in the “pet department” (some turtles — until they were illegal — and goldfish) were long gone.

And the sidewalks were clogged with fake “poor” “disabled” (fat) people on their paid-for-by-me scooters.

Ugh.

But now all the people I hated growing up in Hamilton are being replaced by the people I hate living with now in Toronto.

Reading this article was such a weird experience.

When I saw the words “Gore Park” I teared up a little.

Sometimes I think it would be — actually, I don’t know the word for it… — to go back and look around some more.

But I doubt I ever will.