This makes a period piece, sadly, of Dave Bidini's National Post article comparing and contrasting the two.
The station I pass through most often, it seems, is Bathurst, the slumping, overall’ed cousin of spit-washed Spadina to the east. Even though its car yard is the most open and unguarded of any station — Spadina’s, by comparison, hides its vehicles coquettishly below ground — there’s never enough sunlight to warm the hordes of passengers waiting to catch a ride.
The day I last visited, it was minus-15 outside, forcing people to press their hands in coat pockets while gathering on benches inside the terminal, leaving the grounds to a dozen pigeons fighting over the remains of a chestnut bag.
Seeking warmth, I descended to the subway platforms, stopping in the middle of the landing while considering whether to turn to Cafe on the Go to my left or Bakery on the Go to my right. Directly in front of me, the newsagent saw me standing there. I went over and asked him which stand provided him with his morning coffee. “Neither,” he said, proving no help. Then he added, “Both,” making my decision even more complicated.