This is the neighbourhood where my dad took me for my first haircut, his old Westmount stomping grounds. The story goes they had to tie me up to the barber's chair... My hair was always a complicated matter. My grandmother lived on Olivier, a house that felt more like a museum than a home; that much I remember.
I have these vague recollections of Nick's and a rice pudding way back when. That restaurant still stands and as I sit on a bench, waiting for some sort of moment, I tell myself I should bring my own kids — like my father did and his father before him... We should always acknowledge those little things from our past that manage to survive.
These are the true monuments.