We had a medical appointment this morning in the city. I was just the driver. After dropping the patient at the physician’s office on Melrose Avenue, I detoured to a nearby shopping centre to park and await instruction for pickup.

There’s a lot to be seen on a Wednesday morning in the city. Behind me is a fence separating the parking lot from ongoing construction work. I have no idea what the objective is but there’s a lot of digging and banging.

Meanwhile I amuse myself to inspect the passersby. A family (mother, son and daughter), all holding hands, amble about, mother glued to her phone, tiny boney children tugging back and forth, detached from any immediate design. Then a young man – extraordinarily skinny  and his ample shirt buffeting in the cool breeze – hurriedly steps by intent upon a goal.

As conspicuously as the others, though with no more evident purpose, are those random communicants who display the common summer apparel of shorts. It is an abbreviation which at times renders an unflattering sight. One stylish chap wore the more discreet “peddle pushers” also known as Capri pants or  Clam Diggers . Others, sporting only standard shorts, emphasize their lack of suntan and their demonstrably