Monday, December 5, 2011


I grew up in a bubble at Charles and Yonge, lived there with my mother, all through college and into my first fulltime job . . . with twelve bubbles outside when we first moved in—a whimsical relic of the ’sixties, I suppose—large plexiglas displays of the merchandise you could purchase from the once fine stores of the Charles Promenade, somehow floating still above the changing city, safely removed from the sins of the strip, until the day I came to find the first of them lying broken on the ground, the next day another. In a week they were gone.

Click here to see the full image by Citatus on Flickr.


  1. That's why we can't have nice things...

  2. Really interesing take for B! Roger expressed it well... bummer

  3. Thought provoking and the reality that broken things can hurt in many ways.

  4. Blithering idiots who broke them!

    abcw team

  5. Great post! Fun like going around on a merry go round, but dizzy when you get off.

  6. ohhh it's sad to see our important stuff broke just like that. I guess nothing is really permanent in this world no matter how we handled it carefully


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