THE NIGHT MY WATCH WAS STOLEN AT THE HORSESHOE TAVERN

<p>The downtown nightlights of Toronto dim low in the rain. It&rsquo;s new year&rsquo;s eve; nostalgia and dreams of the future dance together on the stroke of a second hand. I go downtown to celebrate with some friends.</p> <p>I&rsquo;m early so I head to the Horseshoe Tavern for a drink before the party. My dad used to listen to live music and dance here, and his father, many years before, would frequent the tavern too, but on a never-ending night of drinking. I know my kin are part of this Toronto institution, and now I am too.</p> <p>My grandparents were Polish refugees from World War II and landed in Toronto to start anew. They raised three children, in a ramshackle townhouse on a dead-end street. My dad says his father wasn&rsquo;t around much, and when he was you didn&rsquo;t want him to be. He was gone before I was born and my grandmother, my Babcia, passed away only a couple years ago.</p> <p><a href="https://medium.com/@a.sokolowski/my-watch-is-stolen-at-the-horseshoe-tavern-1369f0c553d4"><strong>Click Here</strong></a></p>