In Toronto we’re at the edge of post-covid19 life as the retail world returns to life, within safety protocols, that is. Stores have signs that say maximum capacity 121, while others say no more than 4 at time. Some say ‘for rent’ not having survived the prolonged lockdown. I suspect some took the lockdown as a sign to close up a business that was merely breaking even.
Some that did close were fairly popular coffeeshops that subsisted on their takeout business anyway. Maybe the per sq. foot costs weren’t being covered by the sale of elevated cupcakes? Some places that survived have cut back their hours – no longer opening a 9 a.m. but at 11 a.m., or in some cases not until 2 p.m. Others are ‘by appointment only.’ I suppose the $ saved in operating costs helps their bottom lines.
Several have been replaced by similar business, chains like A&W or Burger King. The most invasive had been, what I call potholes. Marijuana dispensaries – that have taken over video, buy-your-gold, stores. Some have obvious names – High Time, Natural High, Neighbourhood Joint – others aim for a different ‘class’ – Canvas, Tokyo Rose (?). At least one has gone ‘native’ naming itself after one of the original land-owners. Cultural appropriation or perhaps the owners are natives? I don’t care to find out because even if they are, it is still a marketing ploy.
Last summer I did several photoblogs of ghosts – stores that had shut down due the pandemic – without cash flow they didn’t survive. I stopped taking those pictures as it become increasing depressing to see that covid19 wasn’t merely killing people but also opportunity. I’d say killing ‘the economy’ but lets face it big pharma is raking in the bucks.
As for the potholes that have shown up all over Toronto – I guess they are better than abandoned storefronts.
Kharis
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is this the last wrap
or the first
the first wrap was a tissue
of lies
‘oh i’m fine’
I used that wrap
over & over
until the tissue
was a layer
layer after layer of
‘oh i’m fine’
‘i don’t mind’
‘how can i make you happy’
walking away
rather than add another layer
hoping nothing had caught
no thread was snagged
on a expectation
an exception
on resurrecting love
<>
I was protected
entombed by safety
by the fact
that all anyone wanted to hear
was ‘oh i’m fine’
‘this bandage solution will do’
‘you deserve to be fixed first’
<>
bound tight
peering at life though the slits
surrendering to the weight of history
pushed along by an unquestioned past
by ritual expectations
controlled by the clasp of gauze
layer upon layer after layer
some turned to dust
some turned to scar
some turned to face the sun
reaching for release
<>
decayed tissue
dust motes settling in the moonlight
‘how can i make you happy?’
‘how can i unravel the book of life’
can i survive
without another layer
of this tissue
this scar tissue of lies
‘oh i’m fine’
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