Close Window
Only Cafe

The street is short-wave. He talks to your face in the empty space and hits your heart. I love him. When I see him I hear tin drums and bugles blowing in the winds. He has mustard and marrow; links one scene to another. A blinking arrow. He's The Only. Vancouver's neon signature. An inspired design. Only the seahorse has no enemies and is always friendly. He is still working on this dry edge of the perishing pond, this breathtaking cultural underseascape, and has an amazing story to tell us. Our seahorse soothsayer can see forward and backward at the same time. He is a social aqua-lung breathing through the worldly scales of octaves, highs and lows, all those human hebejebes of his submarine street, without a qualm. A true fish. The last true creature of charm on a broken chain of neon. He sleeps with eyes wide open. He is the always-awake one on this crossing-corner of the travellers of up and down. Doldrums and Quicksand. Only is nearly vanquished, as most of the other neon friends in this once ocean of neon have dissolved: the lively scripted B.C. Electric Company neon above the entrance to the Hastings and Carrall main depot of the Interurban belt-car tramline; the twelve-foot regal crowns up there'the flaming flight of the red Blue Eagle since 1944'the cool smirk of the levitating Smilin' Buddha casting his spell. What a show-off. Miraculously, Only the seahorse'Vancouver's wide awake corner-neon horse carries on, for all the unfinished lives, and is still a friendly guy.