Remnants of Old Montreal. Part I

(www.bears.co.nz)

Mr. Skirts often forgot about the sky, especially on days when he received a specially marked brown envelope. Today he was reminded by the unshaven vagrant who sat on the stoop outside his office-building. The vagrant wore a grimy white collar shirt with spotted green tie, and held a cardboard sign that wrote “This Way Up,” with corresponding black arrow pointing to the heavens.

Mr. Skirts heard a slight crack as he tilted his neck. He stood with his hands behind his back, mouth gaping open, and observed the movement of two massive clouds swirling toward one another. In only a few seconds the clouds collided and became one, as continents that crash and join in the sea after centuries of idle drifting. He half expected a tremendous noise to mark their impact, but the clouds moved through one another like phantom lovers and continued a silent path across the blue sky, gently breaking off into new formations.

The vagrant looked at Mr. Skirts with a wide, satisfied grin, as if to say, I told you so. Mr. Skirts tipped his cap and tossed the man a quarter; he then walked down the street with the sealed brown envelope tucked tightly against his arm.

“A new project, Mr. Skirts?” the waiter asked as he noticed the brown envelope.

“Yes indeed, Jacques.”

“Red wine and Fettuccini Alfredo, Mr. Skirts?” Jacques asked before bothering with the specials.

“Yes, let’s not upset the universe today.”

Mr. Skirts traced his finger across the insignia on the official red seal. He took a long sip of merlot, broke the seal carefully, and read the single white page inside:

Monday, May 14.

Mr. Duncan Skirts, head secretary to the Minister of Management and Logistics of New Montreal.

Congratulations on the completion of your last project. I would like to personally thank you for your role in the resolution of the city’s pistachio import crisis. You have once again demonstrated your unequivocal skills in the field of municipal management and logistics. I dare say New Montreal would cease to function without the dedicated efforts of you and your department.

Now, onto your next tast. We have a transportation crisis:

I. The average size car has ballooned to over three times the size of the city’s average parking spot.

II. Automobile collisions are up 64%; automobile fatalities are up 38%.

Direct your budget requests directly to my head office, and please remember that you have, as usual, two months to complete your assignment. I expect, at the end of two months, a full report on how best to decongest our streets.

Thank you,

And good luck,

Bradrick B. Delonte, Mayor of New Montreal.


Mr. Skirts read the letter carefully three times. His subconscious was already putting together figures and formulating hypotheses. Even after ten years in the same department, he approached every new project with the zeal of a young boy, excited by the prospect of piecing together the complex puzzle of the world. Today however, a vague notion interrupted his buoyancy: The sky was moving.