The Market and the Music

"People think the city is loud now, but back then, it was loud with different things. In the 1960s, the ByWard Market wasn't just a place for tourists; it was the lungs of the city. You didn't just hear cars—you heard the clip-clop of the last few horse-drawn delivery carts and the rhythmic shouting of the fruit vendors."

"But it was the music that I remember best. On Friday nights, you could walk down York Street and hear the blues drifting out of the clubs. It didn't matter if you had a dollar in your pocket or a hundred; everyone stood on the sidewalk together just to catch the rhythm. We didn't have phones to record the moments, so we had to actually live them. We had to look each other in the eye."

"I told the young man who found me on the bench that night—the city has changed its face, but its soul is still there in the stories. I’ve watched the skyline go up and I’ve watched my friends go away, but when I talk about the old Market, I can almost smell the fresh bread and the wet pavement after a summer rain. I'm glad someone finally stopped to write it down."