jasonhargrove They're headed towards Spadina, the sky is raining regret. "I should have brought a banana," the man on the streetcar says to his girl. Elsewhere there's a kitchen, in a house, on a little hill; and on the counter some bananas, looking forlorn. "No. Harold," the girl says, folding her gloves in her lap with some scorn. "I like the bananas with my cereal."