The Birth Of Clarke's Bread

It’s 1:00am on a Saturday night. Or is it early Sunday morning? Nick and I are waiting in a dark alley in North York. Cutting across the back parking lot of a weathered strip mall, we’re startled by what seems to be a motion-sensored light above an open door, leading to an empty lit staircase. Weird. There’s no one there. If you didn’t know us any better, you’d think that we were first-time buyers of a crooked drug deal.