Stupidly, I did a Masters in Urban Planning at the University of Toronto. I hated nearly everything about it. I did it because I liked LEGO and wanted to build things. Planners don’t really get to build things. Architects build things. Planners plan things.

The only courses I really liked were the urban design courses, all taught by an imperious British man, Professor Waterhouse. I’m pretty sure his first name was “Professor.” Could have taught at Hogwarts. Like a lot of designers, he had OPINIONS. He also had a serious eye.

The first day of my first design class, we had to partner up. There was a kid with an earring in the top of his ear. I was like, Oh, hey, little punk dude, do you wanna be my partner? I think Dylan was too alarmed to say no. Totally random. That was it. We were soon inseparable.

Handily, Dylan was also a really good drawer. (He could have been an architect.) Do you remember Chasing Amy, the movie? How one guy was the comic-book drawer, and the other guy was the inker? I was the inker of our relationship. I got a Masters in Colouring and Tracing.

For our first project, we had to design a new dorm. Dylan drew it. I coloured it. Professor Waterhouse looked at it, pointed at my bright green grass, and asked, “What colour is this?” I held up the pencil crayon. He took it out of my hand and threw it out the classroom window.

But he admired our design, and he took a shine to Dylan and me. We took every course of his. We’d stay up drawing in these all-night sessions, these crazy plans. We’d finish covered in black ink, with vellum cuts on the tips of our fingers. Heaven for a Luddite like me.

Toward the end of our program, we had to redesign an entire city block. Dylan and I worked hard on it. We did all sorts of drawings, including a long scroll of the entire block in perspective. It was massive. Like, ten feet long. Several all-nighters. We got pretty punchy.

Dylan decided we should draw a tiny flasher in a park—a guy opening his overcoat. There were hundreds of figures in our drawings. Nobody would notice but us. It would be our little inside joke. Great. Dylan drew a miniature pervert. I inked him.

The next day, we pinned up our stuff all over the classroom. Filled a wall. I was really proud of it, honestly. Professor Waterhouse looked at it—like, he glanced at it—and then he took off his glasses and moved closer to the paper. Right in the vicinity of the flasher. I froze.

“Gentlemen?” he said. “Is that a flasher?”

What could we say? “Yes, Sir. That is a flasher.”

I lived with Dylan after we graduated. We went to baseball games. We were the best man at each other’s weddings. Dylan gives really thoughtful presents. One day he handed me another present. It was a small piece of paper, cut from a larger piece, mounted under glass.

We were only kids. But more than twenty years later, it’s still on my office wall, beside my writing desk. I smile every time I see it, and him. The best parts of my life are the random parts. They're the parts that I never could have planned.