Kensington Market 2020
"Why's it called market, anyways?" Oliver asked Colin as they walked through the neighbourhood. It was sunny and the pure white pavement glowed.
"Well," the older boy said, thinking it over. "Probably for the marketers." Then with the surety of a 11-year-old to a 10-year-old, "Yeah, the marketers and the ad execs. They moved here, like, fifty years ago and made it nice."
In front of them, a new model floater slid out of the parking garage. "What was it like before?"
Colin grimaced. "My dad said that it was really gross. Like it smelled. Of fish he said. 'Cause they sold food out in the streets." They passed by a Gap-Benneton, and Colin stopped talking to admire the clothes. There was a well dressed silver mannequin having sex with another well dressed silver mannequin. Oliver found looking at it made his mouth dry.
"I want that," Colin said, and they moved on down Augusta Street. "There weren't any good stores, either. Dad says he would never come here because there were all these scummy people living here. But they all had to leave after a while because they couldn't afford it." Colin laughed.
They were coming to the edge of the neighbourhood. They waved to the guard at the Augusta - Dundas checkpoint, who nodded to them. His dogdroid was scanning people who walked by outside the gates. Oliver saw a boy about his age and wondered if he had good stores near his house.
Colin said, "Wanna go virtuablading?"
"Yeah!" Oliver said, looking away from the gate. "I've just got a new scenario -- Death in the 'Hood."
"Oh yeah, have you got your tickets for the Marlboro Virtuablade Shredfest yet?" Colin said as they headed back to Nassau Street.
"No, I've only got eight proofs-of-purchase," Oliver said sheepishly. "Marlboros are strong."
Colin looked at him severly. "Better smoke up, man."