Come boxing
The 535 up Avenue du Parc is jammed full of people in winter; in spring, though, with so many Montrealers on foot or bicycle, it's usually easy to get a seat. It's only a ten-minute ride from my 'hood to Van Horne. The gym itself is in the building right on the corner, but it's virtually impossible to find. You go through a back entrance, down a graffiti-covered alley which sets off all your "you are about to be mugged" street-smarts alarms the first time you follow it, to the unmarked door with no handle. Once inside the semi-abandoned building - once a factory? a warehouse? - the air is musty. Debris and abandoned furniture litter the stairwell. From above you hear violent rhythmic thumps, and the first time you probably presume it's the sound of gloves hitting bags in the boxing gym that is your destination ... so you're a little surprised when you ascend to the second-story stairs and see a crowd of slender young women furiously flamenco-dancing aw...