Travelled to Kits to meet an editor I work with for an in-person conversation, as we do every year, but hadn't for the last three because of the pandemic. Left earlier than usual because I wanted to visit the Sally Anne on West Broadway, just east of Macdonald, only to find it closed for renovations. From there I wandered west, stopping at Step Back, where I purchased a couple of older French-language children's books for a friend who teaches French immersion and appreciates such things.
Our meeting was at Cafe Lokal at 4th and Trafalgar, a place new to me like most everything is new to me since Expo '86, when private development turned "heritage" into stasis, before reconciliation turned heritage into colonization -- so its always something, no matter what "side" you're on. Lokal is at the southwest corner, where you enter into a diamond-shaped room, with a long bar at the back with nothing hanging over it but a curved suspended ceiling. A sexy blend of rustic and moderne, hosted by a largely European cast that, by virtue of its clearly Serbian co-owner and a cascading display of eccentricities by the floor staff, reminded me at times of Makavejev's Montenegro (1981).
After our meeting I travelled back on Trafalgar, south to 13th where I'd parked. The rain had turned the green greener, in some instances weighing it down, providing a tunnelled jungle effect. Once in the car I checked my photos and noticed one I hadn't remembered taking. This must have been on 4th, somewhere just west of Macdonald, where Renee's R2B2 used to be, and Trent and Denise's Black Sheep Books after that. Do I share this disturbing pic now, after mentioning the names of these sweet people who did so much for readers and writers in the 80s and 90s, respectively? I'm sure they won't be bothered. A posting in the public's best interest.
No comments:
Post a Comment