Jack Layton in his open letter to Canadians
Last summer, I was subletting an apartment that just so happened to be right across the street from where Jack lived. Between late nights up doing coursework for the class I was taking on top of working full time at my internship, I was never alone doing work. While most other lights of houses and apartments nearby would be out, there would be one on at Jack’s. Occasionally you could catch glimpses of him working at his desk. Without curtains on our living room windows, my roommate and I would always joke about how much of our lives he was able to see. The night before my midterm when I was studying particularly late, I can recall looking up and seeing him standing at the window which faced directly into our apartment. It was brief, both of us taking a moment before we resumed our work, but that’s how I like to remember him. Those fleeting moments between neighbours.