Boxing Day at dawn

Well before light breaks on this winter day, the streets are full of militarily precise shoppers. They pull into all the parking spaces, march along with shiney new carrier bags, lag only a moment–in suprised disgust–at the yet unopened Pink, or, two doors down, the equally unprepared Cruise.  They work in groups of two (mother an daughter) or three (two women, one mna, all in uniform trench coats), sliding along the pavement as swiftly on foot as in the slow moving cars that seek an open curb space at which to discharge the passengers.

Unlike Black Friday in the US, there is no hysteria:  these people have already eyeballed exactly what they will be purchasing and have simply agreed to the store’ designated time for the best price.

My shopaholic friends in Nova Scotia would eat their hearts out, as Boxing Day there is a statutory holiday and stores won’t be open.

After yesterday’s quiet, the street’s blooming three storeys down (they are each 15-foot storeys, so the distance is dramatic) is compelling. Catsle street is blocked for several yards up from Princes Street, so it’s a turn around point, usually for taxis and delivery vans, but today for all these shoppers. The Vauxhalls and fiats spin like little black and green bugs at the granite stanchions demarking the access end-pont, but the drivers, too, seem to ahve been in training for this day.  Every parking space is full, but no one need wait long:  get in, get out, haul in the back.


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