Recently I passed through the immediate aftermath of an explosion, or chemical fire, at the TTC Hillcrest Barns. Coming up Bathurst, rounding onto Davenport, a dull blue scarf of smoke waving over the sidewalk blocked my path. I was annoyed, because I thought it was car exhaust. To avoid the smoke I crossed the street, onto the north side of Davenport, but by the time I got there the plume of smoke had already dissipated. Where had it gone? Many places. My lungs.

About an hour later I walked back past that same intersection, heading south on Bathurst. Three firetrucks were parked at the Hillcrest Barn entrance, their red lights flashing silently. There may have been more firetrucks inside the compound.

So it wasn’t just my imagination.

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