One foot to bear the weight; one foot to push-off from place. 4.28billion years since the waters hurled to earth hidden in the meteors that gave our planet shape: about as long as it takes to fill the potholes in Montreal. We step lightly around delivery vans buried deep in asphalt pursuing bagels, Greek coffee, chic bars, schmatta and kosher smoked meat. Forever bisecting the city like a well-worn scar, tarmac unites what politics has divided. Here a Chinese Temple gate, there the lowly fast-food prostitutes, Old and brave New World crest on concrete river, an open artery flowing with our stories, all of them, the famous and the damned. Relics and rejects of a living city; paving crews make time capsules of the holes they patch. Richler, Cohen, Tremblay set the pace I follow metre by metre, rhythm formed by footfall, one in front one behind, over the patchwork pavements of The Main.
angela (c) 2010