The warm summer air dissipates into the cool breeze of fall – and last call dawns early on Whyte Avenue. Here we are, a year and a half and two vaccinations later and restaurants and bars are closing up at 11 pm because of a spike in Covid cases.

But that doesn’t stop live music – not entirely.

After dark on Saturday, the second night of renewed restrictions, the bass from a not-so-far-off party leaks down the street. The mystery music is coming from a night market called Station Park that happens every Saturday. This was the final one – not because of Covid, but because summer’s over in Edmonton.

The market includes a variety of food trucks, vendors selling local and handmade goods, street performers and this time, a DJ and dancing. Someone walking through tells me Edmonton is trying to “preserve the party at all costs.” About half of the people there looked as though they stumbled in. Some of them look like they might be in the area regardless of the goings-on, and the last few came specifically for this party. Everyone is having fun. Station Park manager Akim says he plans to “build a buzz” around the market with these smaller, weekly parties in the hopes that when they develop the more permanent market (made of sea cans), people will come.

The crowd begins to disperse well before midnight. Down the street, a recording of Akon’s Smack That fades away – but then I am beckoned in new direction by more mystery music. This time it is smooth, jazzy saxophone from a lone busker who calls himself Septimus. People are dancing in the streets. He then proceeds to do a calypso song – all by himself. The impromptu performance brings more joy to the people, some who’d just come from Station Park.

People stagger down the quickly cooling streets in tiny tops and no coats. Others sit in cozy cafes drinking their warm coffees. Two men walk by with guitar cases. I try to watch where they go in hopes of catching a show but they don’t stop to play a song. The clubs are closing and people are flooding the streets.

I end my walk where I began: at Station Park. The DJ is still spinning music as enthusiastically as he had been before, when people were there. A kind stranger spots me in the corner with my pen and notebook. He tells me to “write from the heart” and invites me to rejoin the “party.” I politely decline, but ponder his advice.

My heart: It feels heavy that local venues are suffering and might not survive the persistent postponements and cancellations of shows. The solace, however, is witnessing free sets like the one at Station Park, in buskers like Septimus, and in knowing that those men with guitars had a place to go and music to play.