Downtown Victoria on a Wednesday afternoon:
Tall thin man in a full steampunk suit, tails, tophat and goggles, juggling.
Beautiful young Japanese waitresses arguing in Japanese about Interac receipts.
A dingy thrift store below ground at the bottom of a sketchy stairwell, called Vintage Buck.
A stone lionface fountain spitting a steady stream of water in a brick courtyard.
A powerful white pitbull or mastiff cross dog on a leash, regarding me with soft intelligent eyes.
A steady rock beat from a drum kit fills the busy street, coming out the window of a second floor loft apartment where a guy is givin’ ‘er on his drums, live and vibrant.
A huge construction pit crawling with workers in hardhats and flourescent coloured vests, two stories deep, riddled with heavy equipment, dump trucks, cement forms, metal pipe, and at the very bottom the ancient bedrock underneath the city, exposed and scraped at by human ants.
Fresh graffiti on the side of Woodfire bakery, windows plastered in high class graphic design posters for local concerts.
Me, gaping at it all in amazement, able to see so many details because I’m only able to walk at a snail’s pace.
