Every spring, there’s that one first sunny, reasonably warm Sunday in Montreal. I absolutely love walking up and down St-Denis on that day, watching Montrealers smiling from behind their sunglasses. Although it’s only a few degrees warmer, you can just feel the winter lift off their shoulders. It’s usually followed by a ridiculous 30-centimeter snowstorm, but for that one day, people are out in droves pretending that winter is over for good, enjoying the rays reflected off the wet streets and even, on some level, the smell of dogshit thawing.

That Sunday was yesterday. I had an additional excuse to get out there, and went on a futile apartment-hunting trip, in the lovely company of Bill. We drove around, singing along to the radio with the windows down (all bundled up otherwise), walked around Mont-Royal avenue, window shopped, shop shopped and hardly saw any For Rent signs.

I missed the perfect apartment, which was advertised online, but it was worth it.