On the College streetcar heading to the people’s procession today, I pass Native Child and Family Services, holding an art sale. They’re raising funds, of course, for the organization, or a specific program. Toronto Police Headquarters is right next door. They aren’t having an art sale or a garage sale. They have all the funds they need.
At Queen and University I wait for my friends at the side of a building, crouched in some stingy shade, hiding from the hot sun until the last possible moment. Around me people wear orange. I pull out the flimsy orange, brown and white scarf I bought in Chinatown yesterday. It’s too girly for me to put it in my hair, so I tie it to my purse.
The police are here. On bikes, leaning against patrol cars. I look at them and think “I remember”.
One year and two months ago. I remember.
I jot down badge and car numbers just for the hell of it.
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