During a long, lazy, blazing-hot summer day on school break, a group of neighborhood kids and I were shuffled off to a local library’s community room for my first-ever improv workshop.

Docking my Bixi at the corner of St. Laurent and St. Catherine, I weave through the shiny new CIBL radio station and dodge the long line outside Club Soda. The air smells faintly of grilled meat and poutine from Pool Hall, and I jaywalk across the street toward the door of Café Cléopâtre.