Chloé texts me a picture of some type of bread being sold as a “bagel” in London. It’s smeared with cream cheese. I look at the picture and text back.

“What is this?! It’s not a bagel. There’s not even a hole in the middle. It’s just bread.”

“I know. I cried when I bit into it. It’s so bad. I miss St-Viateur.”

Reading her reply fills me with a deep languishing. A nostalgia of sorts for a walk through a Montreal that doesn’t exist anymore. 

Down Chateaubriand, turn on Castelnau. I stop for a chai latte at Ferlucci, then continue until Henri-Julien, go through the market and cross Bélanger toward Alma. I walk down Alma to St-Zotique, where I stop to yell my friend Adam’s name from the street until he appears on his balcony. I say hi and continue walking down ...