Thursday, 16 July 2015

Wednesday Night on Hastings

Arrived late last night. The midnight walk from Waterfront Station to the Patricia Hotel is always a shock, never more than at midnight on a chilly Tuesday. The glows of crack bowls lit my way like eerie, wayward jack-a-lanterns. Cop cars' sirens, ambulances, a lady trying to scrap passers-by wearing an open, tattered blue housecoat wide open, her wrinkled, sagging tits and unkempt bush blowing in the cool night air--these were the sad symphonies of this Vancouver night. Cardboard beds lining sections of the street as bums and junkies huddled for warmth, protection and camaraderie. This is the family we so often ignore.

Welcome home. Welcome to Canada.

This is a strip where our human condition is displayed in its rawest form. This is not Disneyland, this is not the Sunshine Coast--this is our humanity and these our frailties and our failures—and all of this is all so wonderfully real.


  1. Mr. Venables,

    Just looked you up on LinkedIn as a reference for Prism Magazine and found your blog. I had no idea you were in Vancouver! Absolutely loved this post about the bitter, unembellished and often neglected truth about life in East Hastings. It is honestly so sad that people are stuck living each day in this cycle of poverty, despite the government's efforts of increasing social funding and rehabilitation programs.

    On a lighter note, I hope your summer in Vancouver was great and that you are doing well!