The never-ending lament for Queen West
Anyone who’s lived in Toronto for at least a few years has their own Queen Street in their head — it’s usually the place they remember from their first visit, a strip of storefronts that are always in their memory, and make a ghostly overlay on top of the shops that are there now. It’s only been gone for a few months, but I’m sure there’s some young person for whom never existed, and the expanse of papered-over windows at Queen and John is a blank slate waiting to be filled in — whereas for me, whatever moves in next will always be haunted by the shadow of Marc Glassman and his tables of cultural theory books.
