The CN Tower and the Rogers Centre dome anchoring the lakefront, downtown stacked behind in glass and concrete, ferries crossing toward the islands. Toronto from the harbour. Past fifty and on your own here, you've probably counted yourself the odd number in enough rooms, the Annex dinner parties, the King West Friday-night crowd, the Beaches Sunday games, that the pattern stops being remarkable. The wider social geometry just stopped producing new arrivals at some point.
A second relationship, a regular gallery person, a Sunday brunch partner, a walking companion for High Park, all are normal here, and members say which one they're after on the profile itself instead of pretending. You read what someone wants and message accordingly. It takes two minutes and zero dollars to start.
First coffee usually lands in a neighbourhood that means something to one of you, Leslieville for an east-end morning, Roncesvalles for the Polish bakeries, the Annex on a Saturday, Yorkville for the older quiet, Cabbagetown for the walks. High Park works in every season. St. Lawrence Market on a Saturday is almost inevitable. The TTC keeps the geography flexible.