Walking up St. Laurent boulevard I noticed that I left my shopping and my purse right in front of the Bifteck bar. I had just had a row with Ken over something to do with my body (i.e. size) and felt betrayed by his insensitivity. I ran down the Main and turned on Pine and hid in an alleyway to cry. He just stood there, face wooden and I knew that I had to go back to him, I had no choice. Miraculously, wallet and shopping were still intact when I came back to the spot where I left my belongings. Ken was chatting with two or three guys: musicians. They were discussing the next rehearsal. I played with one of their instruments, a strange sort of electric piano: it had four half-keyboards all set on two levels in what I can only describe as a sot of old wooden drawing desk. One of Ken's acquaintances asked me if I minded Ken's going to rehearsals and I replied that it was fine by me."You don't mind?"
"No."
"Not many wives like you"

I was surprised by that.

I thought about St. Laurent boulevard and opened my eyes. What a strange dream. The strangest bit was the thought of Ken playing an instrument. He's never been musically inclined.

What if I had stayed in Montreal?

How different would things have been if I had not flown over here? Would Ken really have come over? If he had, how different would our relationship be?

As I lay in bed my mind clicked and whirred awake as it ran through a slide show of memories: 1. Area Beach in Celeiro (would there still be congrios and escarapotes hidden in the sand when I next visit this beach this summer?), 2. the Main and all the shops, cafes, restaurants, bars, bakeries, butchers, specialty foodie shops, and really old businesses (Karl's Shoes!) that had been there for yonks... How is the Main changing? Do I want to go back and find out or preserve my knowledge and memory of it forever in a mental time capsule?

These are places where I discovered things: in Area I discovered my fear and yet longing for the ocean. On St. Laurent I discovered new cultures, new foods, new tastes, smells, dounds, new bands, another way of life - far removed from the isolation of RDP where I grew up.

St. Laurent boulevard was the world on one street, old and new, east and west and befitting it is because it divides my city between French and English and between these two tribes the immigrants (and children) are stuck.