At 6am I’m half-asleep when we assemble at Toxic Yoga, our regular meeting place. It’s the overpass opposite the Coke sign that crosses William Street. We’d once brainstormed potential uses for this overly wide and under-utilised land bridge. Outdoor yoga sessions were one suggestion. The high-level car fumes make it toxic but perhaps that could be a thing, like hot yoga. Needless to say the yoga never happened but the name stuck.
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