All right, folks. The truth is, I don’t live in Vancouver. I never have. I live across the river. If you’ve never heard of Surrey, think New Jersey and New York. Now you get the picture. Though I don’t fly out until the 9th, this is probably my last day here. I won’t get another chance to be down here in the city, where the streets have names, not numbers. I thought I’d head down to Granville and Robson, the heart of downtown, sit on the art gallery steps, before grabbing my favourite Vancouver burger, then seeing a show at the Commodore. (If you love symmetry like I do, you’ll love that the band is from Halifax.) Except, they’re still renovating. Robson has been fenced up since the Olympics ended.
The city has changed a lot since I was 15 and so cool because I came down on the Skytrain alone and went to concerts in big old theatres. (The Commodore was why I wanted to be 19. I wanted to see music more than I wanted to drink.) Maybe that’s why I have to leave. There are too many teenage dreams on these streets, and I don’t know what I want anymore.