Thursday, January 13, 2005


me: "Too bad you don't have an appendix."

DenMarc: "I know."

me: "You're like a Vietnam vet, hobbling about on one leg ..."

DenMarc: "I am."

me: "Weirdo."


Montreal doesn't have "dusk." The sun sort of comes and goes at will, switching on and off like a light or a cigarette butt on a hooker's lesioned ass. No warning. No colour-coded terror alert. Just a putrid darkness enveloping the city before you even realize it was a nice day to promenade.

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