Oh, High Park. A lifetime of my most precious Canadian memories linger in your smelly halls. Actually, it's rarely ever smelly here (unlike Islington station, which usually reeks of cheesy nachos and rat pee.)
I give High Park Station one star for its charming name. One star for its quirky spare-change collectors. And one star for its automatic doors, which seem to open like heaven's gates at times when I'm holding three coffees or ten grocery bags.
Mr. Chairman of the TTC, if you ever stumble upon this review please consider the following advice: People who take the TTC to go to the actual park never know how to get there from the station because there are no obvious signs. These good families, cute couples and pre-pubesent teenagers need proper signage. HOW ELSE WILL THEY FEED THE SQUIRRELS, DRINK ILLEGALLY AND FORNICATE IN BUSHES?!