TWO GUYS, 70 SQUARE FEET, ONE MONTH
I grew up in a suburb of Toronto that’s often lauded as one of the greatest places to live in all of Canada. Brag alert, right? Not so much. The way I see it, such places often breed “normalcy,” which is great, but it isn’t my bag. As I hit high school, normal became more and more uncomfortable for me. I was an outsider. An aggressive iconoclast. A weirdo. While my peers were wearing bootcut jeans, I was wearing plaid ladies’ slacks. But birds of a feather, right? In between my lackluster studies, I was lucky to meld with a group of like-minded folks—the type who would get on stage and host the talent shows. My flock. One of them was a kid by the name of Pat, and we quickly bonded over our love of comedy and basketball—both of which we used as catalysts to interrupt our English class on the reg. Poor Mrs Turnbull.
Fast forward 20 years (whoa), and I’m living full-time on the road in a 10 x 7 travel trailer (sorry mom; clearly it wasn’t just a phase). I still keep in
