The streetlight flickered erratically as I locked my bike to the parking sign. It seemed to flip on and off in sync with my movements, almost as if it had a motion detector. The street was mostly empty except for the rows of old ten-speeds and fixies locked outside the gallery. The area was once an industrial part of Vancouver, but low rents had attracted several galleries and coffee shops over the years. The streets were still wide and unkempt, with dry grass peeking through wherever it could. The warm summer air was slow and languid.
The gallery was packed with art school kids buzzing on free wine when I walked through the door. Luke was happily doing the rounds, bouncing between small circles of family and friends. He actually looked pretty good, in clean white sneakers, dark denim Levi’s, and a crisp white collared shirt—his formal wear.