stanley park
25 August 1997

On Thursday it rained, which I was happy about because I wanted to show him the real Vancouver. We turned the corner on Stanley Park Road and the Lions Gate Bridge rose over our heads... somewhat mysteriously... obscured by the maples and firs. He leaned his head against the passenger-side window... his sense of self drifting over the bridge toward the Capilano Mountains... leaving me behind. Watching and wishing. Lost in melancholy and a hopeless sense of regret.