Saturday afternoon, Down By the Riverside
On Saturday afternoon, in the parking lot at Saulter and Queen Street East, a dance school was putting on a recital. Under just the faintest suggestion of rain, beaming parents watched as children, evolving into various forms of perfection, executed the maneuvers they’d been practicing all week.
Dangerous Dan’s had set-up at barbeque area in the parking lot, advertizing themselves with signs that read, “Meat is murder, tasty, tasty murder.” The guys flipping the ribs, sporting the sort of facial hair you’d see on pro wrestlers, wore mechanic jackets with their names embroidered on them instead of the more traditional chef version. Around them, sitting on curbs and overturned boxes, dark-skinned older men, all built like fire hydrants, ate the ribs without conversation or expression.
A man on stilts walked down the street gathering publicity. He was 12 feet tell and dressed all in red, his hat stretching up to the clouds. He had a ukulele and was singing up a storm,
“I’m going to lay down my sword and shield,
Down by the riverside, down by the riverside.”
A young mother pointed to him, trying to encourage her boy toward the festivities, but he was terrified. Bawling his eyes out, he buried his face in his mother’s coat as the giant stomped down the street.
An elegant and elderly Asian woman who looked as if she was clad in nothing but clothes bought at Holt Renfrew paused in Jimmy Simpson Park, and in her three quarter length Burberry jacket, began to slowly execute T’ai Chi moves, while a five year-old girl in a full and excellent batman costume, swung loops around a parking meter in front of a gated tattoo shop.
A squadron of pigeons pecked at the bread scattered about a paved corner of the park. A mother’s eyes sparked, and she charged forth into them, stroller first, her daughter squealing and applauding as the birds took flight, encompassing her in the beating of their wings.
