The End of Day One

I’d traveled pretty far for one afternoon. From Ave Mont-Royal to Champ-de-Mars. If you don’t think that a long way, you become a small house and take the walk.

Give me some time. I think I’ll find myself a place in the city’s skyline.

The Old Port

We took a stoll down to the old port. For a moment I contemplated hopping a train…

But I decided a hobo’s life wasn’t one for a small house.

The boats looked nice, but I had a vision of being used as ballast or an anchor.

Near Place Jacques-Cartier

I checked to see if it was legal for bus drivers to discriminate against small houses. I didn’t see where hey couldn’t.

Then I had to stop at a famous house, of a sort.

Vive le Québec… Vive le Québec libre

Vive une petite maison libre

Don’t you think?

Champ-de-Mars

I liked the garden at the Champ-de-Mars station.

Do you ever go there? Did you ever notice homeless bed down next to the fence? Behind the vince and grasses. It’s easy to spot if you look. The photographer hadn’t seen it earlier this week. It was my first time there.

Standing on the old city wall and looking at the buildings can make one small house feel very small.

Where Do I Come From?

Now, you may go to a church to ask where you come from, but we headed down to the information booth at the Mont-Royal Metro Station to ask.

Before we had the chance the photographer discovered the sticker under my foundation.

I bet you wish you had a sticker under your foundation to find out where you come from.

A nice person gave the photographer a fiber bar.

I checked for trans fats and harmful additives.

Parking

Who understands these parking rules?

Or these:

We decided it didn’t matter as we didn’t have a car.

How a Small House Travels

Not well. After the bus fiasco I tried calling for a cab.

I didn’t have 50 cents and they wouldn’t take a collect call. It’s probably best. I didn’t have the money for a cab either.

So we stopped at Restaurant Stromboli. The photographer said his wife and he had went there many times when they were “courtin.” (OK, he didn’t say “courtin” but with his accent he should have.)

Starting on Avenue du Mont-Royal

My first afternoon away from home — hmm, is a house always “home?” — anyway, as I traveled I discovered a few things.

I sat on a bench to get my bearings. To decide where to start.

The first thing I found out is that Montreal buses discriminate against houses. They didn’t even stop.

After the Disaster

Life as I know it started after The Disaster. We were a small neighborhood. A few of us on a small island on Rue de Brébeuf near Ave. Mont-Royal.

Then The Disaster. At first I didn’t blame him. There was a couple in the bike path. But he tried to go the wrong way around. He knocked over my neighbor. I was safe though.

But after he fell he was angry. He marched to us and gave a swift kick. We scattered in the street. He limped away. We were tougher than he thought.

We lay in the street. Afraid of our new position. Afraid others would kick us, or the cars would run over us.

A kind man came over to us. Set us back on our island. But we were in a new position. Life seem out-of-kilter.

Then the photographer came over. He had watched the whole thing as he ate pizza. Oddly, he had also just read about us.

He took a picture and then had a sudden urge to pick me up and carry me off.

That’s how this whole thing started.

The Story of Une Petite Maison (One Small House)

If this is your first time here, you might want to start at the beginning. (This is how I travel. In style.)