The pavement is moving with phantom waves. It’s strange to be walking in a straight line again. Strange to have choices and even stranger to be walking through an American movie dubbed into a foreign language. The brownstone buildings, the corner stores, the huge trucks – everything could be the US (perhaps the east village in New York) and yet everyone is speaking French. The city proposes a kind of ‘what if’ history game. In a parallel universe, where things had worked out differently, president Bush might also be speaking French. Actually, other things are also subtly wrong – the bodies are American but the gestures and the way people hold themselves is French. The dress sense is more stylish, the café culture is slower, the food is excellent, the women are beautiful. I like Montreal.