Thousands of Bricks

Imitation Essay in the style of Virginia Woolf

N O O N E perhaps has ever felt passionately towards an SD card. But there are situations when it can feel like there is nothing a person could want more; moments when you take a picture of a group of people who are meticulously posing, the shutter snaps but the digital memory was never imprinted. As the journalist records speeches to later inform the world of the happenings, and the photographer who captures a candid of two seemingly unaware subjects that may restore someone’s faith in humanity; here the desire strikes on your conscious and reminds you: “I need to get an SD card” as if under this guise of wants and needs I am able to embark on one of the greatest joys in capital living – wandering the streets of Victoria.

There is something about an early winter evening that makes one feel anonymous, in a place with such close nit familiarity, a person can feel as though they are seeing the city for the very first time, despite having lived here for over a decade. In the summer we are never found within such a populous region with empty streets, the humid air forces us into hiding close the ground, and constant visitors scurrying around the street pondering whether they should spend $70 CAD on a crew neck that says Victoria in bold font; because after all, this is the end of their cruise and they have already spent enough money on trinkets and souvenirs.

But on such a lovely and lonely winter evening there is a certain aspect of revitalization in the soul when you see the haunting clouds simmering at the low heights of Douglas Street, the streetlights shining down on the people who live here year-round. Warm yellow lights from pubs and restaurants radiate out into the streets, with the moving arms of patrons emulating the dance and movement as if they are the sparks and flame of a living room fireplace. I peer inside and see a crowded table with two people at the end talking as if there was no one else there, they spoke freely as if there was no aspect of time in this world, or if they were on beach far, far from the busyness of society, speaking their truth and predicting what future might become of their hard-earned efforts. They stare deeply into each other’s eyes, holding a gaze for longer than usual, but are both comfortable with it. Like the thousands of bricks that constructed this city, it is also the thousands of stories that make this city a place to live.

I walk past the five schedule A banks and look at the top floor to see if there are any CEOs crunching numbers and ruminating over financial forecasts, attempting to find solace in the idea of their success. They look down at their purple heart wood and lignum vitae desk and reminisce about their bullpen days, grey clad cubicles, fighting shoulder to shoulder with others for scraps of opportunity to further their career. A man in a corduroy coat asks for change so he can catch a bus home and make it to work the next morning. The bridge slowly ascends to an upright position so the barge piled with crushed rock can safely pass, which slows the night traffic to be temporarily stuck in place with their lights luminating on the one-way street, and their exhaust sputters grey smoke into the already cloudy night. What was I looking for again? Right, I was looking for an SD card. The unexpected adventure through the city night revealed many treasures for an SD card.