I can’t tell you why the translation is titled as such, though I’ll chalk it up to the turn of phrase “lost in translation.” And yes, he found it funny to watch my discomfort trying to talk about a touchy subject. I sweat. I tremble. My voice cracks and my pants fall down. Once again, I’m not defending the book, I’m telling you what was told to me. Frankly, I think your issue is with my man Mr. Ibrahim, and if you’ve got beef with him, you got beef with me, playboi (not really, I’m just fucking around). And while I concede that police reported crimes are not an all encompassing data set, considering it’s the only set available, your point is irrelevant. At the end of the day, your presumptuous, prejudicial generalizations toward the people of Quebec border on xenophobia, and it’s precisely the type of boorish behaviour I’d expect from a Torontonian.
(If it wasn’t obvious, I’m 100% being sarcastic. You seem like you have a good heart, and I’m also quite fond of Toronto. I love you.)