Walking down the quieter streets of my neighborhood last autumn, I was struck by the appearance of a name, Esther, on telephone poles and idle walls. At first it was curious only because I think of Esther as an English name and it seemed out of place in a French city, but soon the frequency and detail of the graffiti became more eye-catching. The artist made a detective of me, showing young love through a series of clues. The name is fading now, as so many young romances do, but Esther and her lover had made their mark my heart.
by Wayne Chan | May 3rd 11:55 am
My daily commute is like a small gear of mechanical time, of epicycles upon epicycles, where days turn to months and to years, and the seasons cycle through. The rhythms of time are constant, but the changes they bring are not.
by Brendan Harrison | Apr 12th 12:54 pm
When white supremacists moved into my neighbourhood, I was forced to reconsider what community meant to me.
by george ilsley | May 3rd 1:44 pm
The neighborhood of Broma in Vancouver (around Broadway and Main) used to have salmon streams and a temperate rainforest. Now it has hipsters.
by Monica Meneghetti | May 2nd 11:45 pm
Queer Banffites come in every stripe but, like other wildlife, most of us are well-camouflaged.
by Christin Geall | May 3rd 10:16 pm
In my neighborhood, houses float out to sea. They’re jacked up from their foundations, lifted onto trucks, and barged away.