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04/28/2006: "Kensington Stop"
I leave my place because I'm hungry and there's no food in the house. And so I leave, not sure what I'm hungry for, but hungry, and without destination, but walking all the same. At Bathust and Dundas, I decide to cut through the Market.
On the west side of Augusta, a few steps north of Nassau, I pass by a line of people lingering against a construction hoarding, each one of them looking east across the street. When I glance over my shoulder to see what they're looking at, there's nothing of particular notice, so I decide to stop and talk to the last man in line before walking past altogether.
"Are you waiting for something to happen?" I ask this last man in the line.
"It's already happening," he says. It's obvious to us both that I don't get what he's talking about. "There, in the upper window, is a video installation." My attention's drawn to a bright blue screen in a second storey window. It's curious now that he's pointed it out, a square of a daylight sky, but hardly enough to merit this line of people.
Still, I linger and watch and the screen stays bright blue and a couple passes on the opposite side of the street and then I ask this last man in line how he knew this was happening tonight and he says that he knows the artist and we chat like this for a while. Then there's another man standing beside me, leaning on a lamp post and he says to me, "Don't I know you from somewhere?" and I say, "Hello. My name's Yarika." And he says that his is Patrick, and Patrick tries to place where he might know me from, even though I'm sure we haven't met before.
Then a woman comes from across the street, holding a platter and offering snacks. She introduces each of the selections, pesto artichoke wraps that she made herself, homemade humus and cracker made by this last man in line who she calls Brian, and brownies. The food attracts a couple of girls, one called Julie, and Julie eats the last of the brownies but that's okay because I'm more hungry for something substantial like the pesto wrap, which is yummy, and then I'm offered to take another and I do, and Patrick asks a question about the video installation and the woman offering food says there's postcards and she gives Brian the tray and leaves and then returns with postcards that say the project is called Lighthouse.
And then there's a couple behind me, and the lady says to me, "Don't I know you from somehwere?" and I wonder if it's some kind of Kensington pick-up. "Don't I know you from somehwere?" seems a good way to start in with someone, at least it's a good way to start in with me. And again I say "Hello, my name's Yarika" and these people tell me that they go by Karen and Vince. Vince says he's from Sneeky Dee's, and I recognise him as the bouncer when he says that and hope that he doesn't remember me as a dump drunken wreck. But I'm sure for Vince that we all blend together, and Karen's more interested in knowing about the project, so I show them my postcard and repeat what I've heard, namely that the video clips the artist is showing were shot through the year from that very same window, and we agree that it's cool and then look up to see that it's snowing.
Right on the street, four folding chairs have been placed out, and I notice my friend Nicole sitting on one next to a man she's with. And then from behind me walks a waiter in a dressy red shirt and black slacks, and he walks to the couple on the chairs and holds out a tray of food. And I think how lovely that they ordered themselves dinner for the occassion, only that thought is burst when the waiter then moves to the hoarding where the gatherers lean and offers them from his plate, and then on to me and I learn that he's from La Palette and this is a sort of bruschetta and he wants me to eat.
And then a group of invigilators walk by, part of the city's effort this night to count the number of people living on the streets. They wear name badges around their neck and stop to taste the hors d'oeuvres, but they don't stop to talk to any of us because we all look like we have a place to go afterwards. But I’m not rushing to get there. After all, good things can come only once I’ve stopped moving.
