It was one of those Toronto summer days where the air felt like it was being piped in from a sauna. The kind of day when even the squirrels were lounging in the shade and the city pavement seemed to shimmer like it had its own heatwave mirage.
Bob stood at the base of the Baldwin Steps, squinting up at the daunting concrete climb. “Well,” he muttered, “it’s only… what… a few dozen steps? Easy.” Famous last words.
He grabbed the railing and started the ascent. The first section wasn’t so bad—plenty of shade from the overhanging trees, dappled sunlight dancing across the steps like nature’s camouflage. But as the street below shrank away, so did Bob’s illusion of an easy climb. His pace slowed. His breathing deepened. Somewhere halfway up, he was pretty sure he’d entered a new time zone.
At the top landing, Bob paused to look back down Spadina Road. The view stretched far into the hazy distance, Toronto’s skyline rising up through a green sea of treetops. A gentle breeze teased him with the promise of relief, but it was short-lived—time for the final push.
The last section spiraled up between stone pillars and garden beds bursting with flowers. Bob’s shirt was clinging like plastic wrap, but his determination held strong. Finally, with one last step, he reached the summit.
He turned to take in the city view again—this time from the top. From here, the street below looked almost serene, the traffic lights blinking lazily in the heat. Bob, on the other hand, was anything but serene. He was dripping, panting, and already planning his next move: finding the nearest shady bench and maybe a cold drink.
Sometimes, the best part of climbing the Baldwin Steps on a hot summer day… is knowing you never have to do it twice in a row.
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