when i was younger i moved to old montreal into my first loft. at the time there was hardly anything in town, just empty buildings, cobble stone streets an obscure Jazz place " air du temps" and a few restaurants in the center. my loft was housed in a run down building, first floor belonged to sculptors, second floor chefs, third floor painters, fourth photographers and fifth musicians, i lived on the fourth but i could have lived on the fifth too for i made money to buy film by playing drums in the subway , yes i did but to hear me play today you might say that people dropped coins in my hat out of pity.
on my last trip i started noticing a shadow of myself walking along side of me, whispering about the montreal i used to know. the quiet winter walks along the side walk edge. the greys, the weathered doors and handles and dirty french panes. so much has changed now, every building converted too condo's restaurants and shops. only those with a certain income can live there now and i am not sure if it ever gets as quiet as i remember but just for a moment i heard the sounds and saw scenes from a place i used to know, just for moment i saw a reflection through the geraniums covered glass of the person i used to be and a place that helped shaped who i am today.