5.28.2025

Rode up (or over) to Parc Olympique and the Botanical Gardens to see what they look like surrounded by evidence of life. This is the first neighbo(u)rhood where I stayed when I arrived in Montreal in January, when the snow was legendary and being measured in kilometers. Where I started this here weblog Without a Gun. Sitting in a stranger's kitchen staring out the window, marveling at how the birds managed to stay alive despite having few resources and even less clothing. In those times when I was cold and confused and fresh off my decision to leave the U.S. there were few constants. One was the local market where I often purchased quiche. The other was a coffee shop where they played rock music I was familiar with and activists gathered. Getting there was a whole trek, dancing in heavy clothes to avoid icy patches, feeling like one of those human-sized muppets who always look out of place on the stage. I learned that the bike paths are plowed even in the deepest depths of winter, and the trail along the highway that runs by the warehouses on the river was the most reliable way to get anywhere. Now I cruise down those streets unimpeded and it turn outs the bike path runs the length of the entire city. The freedom this presents. It's like I just got my driver's license. I have no desire to crawl back inside or to watch Lost or fall asleep playing a weird poker game on the laptop. Sometimes it almost feels like I know what I'm doing.