My parents, whom I am convinced were escaped Nazi war criminals, had assured me that the tastiest and most succulent Easter treats were left on the uppermost ledges of the city's tallest skyscratchers.
Each year they would drive me into the downtown core and drop me off at the base of the city's tallest structures.
"AJ", they'd say, "head for the highest window and find the most sugary of all rewards (giggle, giggle, snort)".
And so I went.
Up stairs and elevators until I had reached the pinnacle of man's marriage to concrete.
Through the nearest window I would slither out and onto the most accessible ledge.
And that ledge, due to my childish size, was always wider than I had anticipated but nevertheless I made my way in search of sugary and teeth-rotting treats.
Against the deepest dark of nights and the chilling stare of the moon I would wend my way all in hope of collecting a succulent Christian treat.
To this day I can hear them giggling and chortling below.
So now ... I smoke cigarettes and laugh at sitcoms.
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