A lulling, blue-skied week of becalmed downtown traffic and evenings of clear air flavoured by barbecue smoke. All the uncertainties and worries of what has come before—not just for the especially beleaguered Rushes, but for all who wander, grinning, down the city’s streets—are put into more manageable perspectives. Everyone wishing for this to go on forever. And then, abruptly, it’s Labour Day weekend. Overnight, there’s an autumnal coolness in the air, the leaves trade half their green for gold. Now’s the time. The chalky taste of Back to School days tells us this. If there’s something fun you’ve been meaning to get around to, do it now. It’s how Sam and I decide to go to the Mustang Drive-in dusk-’til-dawn. The last show of the season at a place Tamara and I used to make the trip to, sneaking in a bottle of white wine under the seat and making out like teenagers. For Sam, the attraction is seeing what he, despite my repeated corrections, calls “My dad’s movie”.
