We saw them dotting the streets as we drove into town; here and there, the red squares pinned to shirts, bags, occasionally hats, pots and pans in hand. Little handfuls of them, walking together.
We saw the police, too—passed a line of police cars as we parked our rental, my friends and I, and we watched where they were going with eyes made extra wary by nine months of Occupy Wall Street-related clashes and plenty of recent Montreal news items. We’d driven up that day after a spontaneous decision that we were too close, mentally, emotionally, and yes physically, to Montreal not to go.