in the neighborhood
Usually I bring lunch from home but lately I’ve been eating vietnamese sandwiches at a nearby dive run by a friendly mother-dad-and-kid team. Tofu, daikon, cilantro and hot peppers on a crusty Parisienne bun, a nod to imperialism, but so tasty. Eaten at the window, looking out at pigeons squabbling over some dropped crusts or, one day, a whole apple pie. The things you find on the ground in this neighborhood are strange.
One of the best florists I know of turns out to be in a shop I thought was abandoned. The lady inside wears a scarf and gloves against the cold, weaving exotic flowers into large bouquets for $10. She also sells limp silk plants and wreaths for funerals or restaurant openings.
If I didn’t see them in the daytime when things are bustling, I’d assume half the storefronts in the DTES are abandoned. At night the grocery stores roll all their displays off the sidewalks and park them in the aisles. The noodle houses, clothing stores, Chinese bakeries and take-away joints pull down the shutters, which have been tagged with graffitti and rusted by rain. Many are out of business, but dirty windows and litter piling up outside don’t necessarily indicate this state.
