It's past midnight on a Wednesday and I'm listening to minimalist Deutsch techno. I'm still not over you. Whenever I see pictures of your coffin draped in red and white, I weep for you silently. Jack Layton, you were not the politician I ever wanted dead. For someone who knew he was going to die of cancer, you still managed to write this touching piece about the country you fought for and believed in. It breaks my heart every single time. Anyone else could have gone. Why'd you have to leave, Jack?
I didn't think the passing away of a politician running for Prime Minister would affect me so much, even after a week of his death. I am sorry to have missed your televised funeral, I was working a job that pays minimum wage and has no benefits. Yeah, not our cup of tea.
Toronto, instead of erecting some copper monument or renaming a street in the city, let us give Jack something he truly wanted. A bike lane or twelve. An increase in health benefits for the underemployed. An environmental policy that will stick.