In Montreal for this pan-Canadian Forum on violence against women, fraught with the usual Canadian tussles over voice and regionalism, but powerful movement being made. Over dinner, redesigning day 3, eating steak frites, I watch the rain in the street, the umbrellas and the bixi bikes, and notice an airport limo pull a scooter under its back wheels.
I run outside, push the doorway lurking smokers out of the way, and call to the limo driver to pay attention, as two people passing by do the same. Between us, we hold umbrellas and tug the scooter out from under the fender of the car, move it. The limo driver pulls away, I return to my steak and conversation, and 10 minutes later, a guy comes out, hops on his scooter and pulls away, absolutely oblivious to its near death experience.
What goes on around our stuff that we know nothing about?