We arrive at the Fulford Harbour ferry terminal forty minutes before the next scheduled departure. We walk up the hill, look around, then walk back, as one might at the opening of a Jack Hodgins novel.
Except in this instance we take our time, visiting a gift shop filled with pottery, jewelry and cards, then a cafe bookstore, where the social distancing protocols are blithely trampled. There is an older longhaired man in the corner behind a laptop who speaks to everyone who enters.
"I like your shirt," he says to me, and I think he means the shirt underneath what we in 1970s Vancouver called a mac jacket, but no he means the mac.
Turning to leave the man selects Fairport Convention's "She Moves Through the Fair" from his laptop. Because the sound is coming through the shop's speakers it occurs to me he has more to do with this place than drink its coffee and talk to its patrons.
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