My First Zanta Sighting

Tonight on my way home, I spotted Toronto’s mental, scary, unpaid, un-musical answer to New York’s Naked Cowboy. That’s right – Zanta.

I got my first glimpse at everyone’s favourite nutbar, in his trademark Zanta hat, camo shorts, running shoes and socks, and a jacket over his bare torso.

Only he wasn’t behaving nuts.

As I passed him on Front Street, by Union Station, I saw him talking to a couple of people in his really quick, I’ve-eaten-a-jar-of-coffee-beans way of speaking he has. But he was … calm.

No push-ups. No grabbing his own butt and pretending to make farting noises.

I saw him on Front Street, near Union Station, on my way to the bank.

Very un-Zanta. Maybe he actually is normal …

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