Street Flora

by Barry Boone

There is something quietly beautiful about the station at the start of the cycle. The small vendors that make up the street life of the station can be seen rolling their stalls out into the niches and corners of Regina Up. Soon they blossom into a dozen myriad forms. For the last time today the wares will be laid out just so, the bagels still cooling, fresh flowers heavy with scent, and a map of Regina Down done in postcards. Then the first full shuttles arrive and the first police whistle is heard directing the foot traffic and the passersby become customers.

Some of those customers have been stopping at this bagel cart, that juice stand long enough to simply be handed their “usual” while handing the price back in a ritual as old as streets themselves. Then there are the new buyers, sometimes overwhelmed by that long crush of people we call the morning commute and taking refuge in the eddies caused by these tiny businesses, who actually glance through the wares to find the perfect rose, a favorite flavor.

By the time the rush passes the map of Regina Down is now just a circle, more fruit is being fed into an ornate looking device with a peppy “whirr” and the bagel cart is out of raisin bagels and decaf tea. A tiny young woman with a violin and a Vargr with a hand held e-drum strike up a soft but lively tune as the first shoppers are seen with their more casual gait and clothing. A long string of children in uniforms is being herded down the street by a handful of neatly dressed parents and teachers.

The late morning sees a slow parade of every type of being that passes through our station. A mercenary haggles with the old woman who makes earrings for a quarter of an hour before they hit on a price. A well dressed young woman looks through the postcards and tiny mementos but doesn't buy anything. An Aslan and a Martel are in a heated discussion all the way through their trip to the juice cart. Both fall silent as they drain their glasses then the words flow again as the cups fall into the trash.

As midday approaches the streets fill up again with a mix of beings unequaled anywhere. The carts are busy with customers two and three deep. A juggler in a three piece suit joins the street musicians and the stalls to either side reap the crowds’ business. One of Regina's Finest strolls by, sees the Busking license propped up in the violin case and stays for a song. Halfway through the number her hand snakes out and catches a thin man's wrist as it pulls a wallet out of someone else's pocket. He shrugs as she cuffs him swiftly, and the tiny band strikes up a scolding march as the crowd breaks into laughter and scattered applause.

Then the crowds lessen as people return to their work. The postcards are now in a triangle, the bagel cart is out of half a dozen types, and the juicer is whirring again. Now the musicians take a bite to eat. An older Vargr couple looks through the postcards, showing the man behind the counter the pictures of their grandchildren. He shows them his grandchildren's pictures as the couple share nibbles on the last bacon bagel. The couple buy a handful of postcards. A long line of children laughs by, returning from their day afield, their teachers and parents looking frazzled and harried.

Slowly as the afternoon wears on the crowds build. The flower stall is busy as people take home beauty for vases, for dates and love (or sometimes peace) offerings. The juice bar does a land office business in “power” juices and the bagel stand runs low on its bagels, coffee and pastries. The musicians play light airs and the juggler adds a briefcase to his routine. The crowds slip by, quieter than this morning but with the same urgency as they head home. As the last of the crowds ebb away the juicer is dismantled and sprayed, the bagel cart sells the last of its wares to the musicians and the postcard stall is neatly put away for the night. The lateshift for the flower cart arrives and sips a fresh coffee.

As the juice cart is packed up a tea and coffee cart arrives. The two proprietors talk briefly as the cart sets up. The musicians are joined by others. They and the juggler confer and decide to stay near the tea and flower carts. Now the street is filling with people out for the evening. A man in white tie and tails buys a carnation and a dozen roses. A security detail from Tukera takes a refill on their thermos bottles at the tea cart. A Marine buys a flower for the shy young woman by his side. An older couple, dressed for a night out stops at the flower stall and suddenly breaks into a dance in front of the small crowd the musicians have gathered. They kiss and applause ripples through the crowd.

As the night unfolds the traffic in flowers and coffee takes on a pattern. Shore Patrol, Regina Police, and a stream of people working through the night pause for their favorite caffeine. Couples court, make up, reaffirm at the flower cart. People stop for a moment to enjoy the music and the juggler then drift off into the streets. A lone man, a mercenary by the armor and safetied weapons looks away as he listens to the music, his face a map of lonely nights far from home.

Now the hour is late, the crowd heading home from the theatre, the multiplex or just a night out. The tea cart is running low on pastries and the last few blossoms in the flower cart are gathered and set aside. Tonight they will be dropped off at St. Anthony's on level six. The musicians pack up and split a mound of change and chatter like a flock of brightly colored birds as they split off in twos and threes. A Regina patrolman, a theatre critic and a Regina Starport Authority stevedore are the last customers at the tea cart tonight.

The patrolman sets off at the pace of police patrol since time immemorial, the theatre critic hurries off to make her deadline for the early morning issue, and the stevedore ambles for the docks. On the massive gray platforms that keep the station alive the paper cup of tea is a spot of warmth as he shifts hundreds of tons of cargo including flowers from a dozen nurseries, flour and fruit. The cargoes pass along through several traders until sleepy-eyed people buy bagel dough, flowers, and fruit and head out to the street. They dodge the early morning cleaning crews spraying the streets and trundle their purchases to a variety of closed, folded carts.

Scattered across the streets a handful of colorful carts flower on the station in the early morning.