The University of Toronto certainly had its beautiful spots, quadrangles with weird brick and concrete designs on the lawns, overflowing gardens tucked into the sides and backs of various old buildings, lots of small tree-covered hills on which students read books or slept, long walkways and cloisters, medieval-looking dining halls and cafeterias and odd-shaped common rooms with colourful murals and stained glass.
But it was also a wasteland of octogenarian professors who put little effort into making their courses interesting and treated undergrads like they were poison, scurrying away from them with an “eek” before or after class and disappearing into dark holes in the walls so they could be alone, where I imagined they munched on pieces of cheese with their rotting teeth.
Each of them
