Ottawa, Canada, October 2022:
I got out of the taxi in front of my hotel in lower town Ottawa and was immediately accosted by a homeless junkie looking for a donation to the cause. It was a Sunday evening, well after sunset, and not quite the greeting I had hoped for upon arrival in Canada’s leafy capital. The smell of pot was in the air, a lot of it – there was a cannabis store across the street, and another around the corner.
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But what struck me about Ottawa was the dramatic juxtaposition of a homeless junkie population with the city’s Bobo bureaucratic class. Every morning, Canadian technocrats carry their custom-made cappuccinos as they shuffle by unstable drug addicts. Every night, those same technocrats enjoy an enviable diversity of international cuisine while homeless people visible through restaurant windows debate and scream at inanimate or imagined objects – I saw this several times in just a couple days.
One evening while at the bar, I overheard several members of Ottawa’s young, urban professional class exchanging their best homeless junkie stories. The winner, they agreed, involved a coworker who in a back alley happened upon a female homeless junkie performing fellatio on a male homeless junkie who simultaneously had a hypodermic needle jabbed in his arm. The technocrats all had a good laugh over that tale.
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