Twelve stories above our own 7th floor hotel room and across the street the flashing blue of a lone open window signaled “bachelor pad” from high above Vancouver.
Restaurants team with chandelier grandeur while pianists make moments into memories sure enough to escalate any Monday evening date into pure ballroom elegance.
The Lady and I wander neon stained streets equally full of million dollar boutiques and teenage meth addicts sleeping all through the sidewalks. Layer upon layer of skyscrapers blossom between the buildings and it seems as though we’ve not really left the mountains. Just traded rock for steel and the serenity of wind for the rush of busy life below.
Our two oldest have proven their own on a playground two blocks away. We’ve rearranged our hotel to suit our particular needs, creating essentially a two bedroom condo out of an otherwise labeled “family suite”.
Still I’m watching how this fellow some hundred feet higher is living his own city life, the only one with windows wide, wide open. Suddenly the balcony left and above me erupts with laughter. Cars are still whooshing away the night as though at 11:30pm, things have clearly only begun to get interesting.