If the 1970s had a window, it would be similar to the one above (located on Main Street between King Edward and 33rd), with its terra cotta pot, its hanging philodendron, the dark space behind them and a wicker blind.
The Kitsilano of my youth was full of windows like this one. Better than a flag, these windows indicated that whatever was going on behind them smelled like black hash, sounded like Joni Mitchell, tasted like rose hips and felt soft and smooth and equally responsive.
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