In the event, it turns out s-i-l went to the cottage with bro and the movers, so they very sensibly spent the night in a motel in Port, as we used to call it. Short for Port Colborne, the closest town on Lake Erie, a place s-i-l keeps suggesting I retire to as being cheap and easy of negotiation by bike. And that's fine, if one wants to live wholly dependent on Amazon and surrounded by white-bread Anglos of dubious political persuasions. I would prefer not. Never forget that Toronto is not Ontario, or even the suburbs; which is a problem, as Toronto rapidly becomes as unaffordable as any other big city.
Hearing voices next door this morning, I walked out into the bitter chill, to find two guys standing outside the house, one of whom comes over to introduce himself as my new neighbour. He seems extremely nice and very friendly, which is a great relief. I wondered if the other guy was his partner, which would be wonderful, but since he made no move to introduce us, and since the voices inside the house were the bro-tachi and their agent, I must assume Guy 2 was also an agent, finalizing details of the closure.