I took a walk east along the
Danforth Avenue this evening, east into
Greektown. The terrible
mass shooting of the night of the 22nd of July, just two days ago, was on my mind. I may be a west end boy, but I know this stretch on the east side of the Don quite well. I've had coffee with friends here, done yoga here, gone to theatre here, done Jane's Walks and solo exploration here, done more here. I've eaten liver and onions at the New York Cafe while looking south down Broadview towards Riverdale Park and the downtown skyline ready to burst beyond just beyond the trees and the low-rises, and looked west at Broadview's intersection with the Danforth across at the beckoning Viaduct. The Danforth is as much a part of my beloved city as Dovercourt Village.
Cities and neighbourhoods are always machines for living. At their best, like in the case of the Danforth, they are glorious machines of living, places that set us free to live and love and enjoy as best we can. We have to always work hard to keep these machines working well, but we also must never err and take anomalies like Sunday's killings to be representative. As I was walking along the Danforth, I heard and saw people talk about Sunday--what they witnessed, what they heard--but I also people talk about what they were going to be doing. I saw the Danforth full of people, continuing to live in a neighbourhood that these people must care about. This particular machine still works, even now.


















