. It was just off the world famous Yonge Street strip right downtown. Standing on the extra wide curbs outside you could find grown men painted silver and pretending to be static robots, South American expats with gas masks and aerosol cans of spray paint creating instant art, and of course a dirty white guy with knotted dreads playing drums on an old 5 gallon plastic pail. It was an eclectic environment to buy a book, grab a coffee for fifty cents and watch the world go by.I remember skipping Calculus class and heading downtown to prowl the massive bookshelves. Being a starving student, I would gravitate to the used book section. It was in the lower level near the back that I found it. A pretty red-headed girl in my Psych 101 class had mentioned Think And Grow Rich after I told her that one day I was going to be a millionaire. Instead of mocking me or giggling, she got a serious, somber look on her face. Her father was a pediatrician and was wealthy. He had made her read the book in Grade 11 along with Atlas Shrugged. I think it had a reverse effect on her. She was into smoking weed and going out drinking Wednesday to Sunday night. She was fun to hang out with in small doses, but her dark jaded views on life was a total bummer after she had downed a few tequila shots. But she pointed me towards a book that would change my life.
