the illusion of 2x4's

My Dear Town,

A town is empty the first time I move through it. I might argue that it is empty long after the first time I move through it and doesn't become not-empty until the last time I move through it. The buildings are all propped up like a village out of an old western movie; each supported by a couple of 2x4's and wooded stakes. They create the illusion of a town in the middle of a province that up until six weeks ago had little significance in the small universe that I occupy.

I am the most important part of that universe. Since I don't see myself in the stores they remain a one dimensional illusion.

Days turn into weeks, as they tend to do on their own accord with no guidance from anyone else. Quite often we miss this happening, try to stop it or slow it or effect it's progress by drawing attention to the speed at which they are progressing, first the days then the weeks and eventually we surrender and, under the influence of hugs and tears, we move once more through the not-so-empty town and the no-longer-empty buildings.

Nameless intersections transform into meeting places. Campers who had left campus found other campers who had left campus for what was, until this place, an unknown reason. Dark side-streets become the homes of small micro brew pubs, farmer's markets and remarkably delicious vegetarian restaurants.

Cold concrete structures are for shouting <<'parkour'>> and jumping over, sandwich shops are where I watch Poo-Bears eat mc-franken-burgers with gusto and that red brick building is a place where Allstars throw up. Twice.

It has been wonderful Exploring you, Moncton and I am happy to be part of your universe. Take care of your not-so-empty self, I will see you again soon.

--b