So four days after the drive up I'm finally settled into the old apartment and have the wireless warmed and chugging away, sending little packets of radio-waves flying around the bedroom like so many no-see-ums, gnsats, black flies, only they're invisible and annoying in a completely completely different way.
Four days after the drive up and the damn st. laurent street sale/fesitval is finally done and over with, the traffic has returned en force, the trash and flyers and beer bottles have been cleaned up (mostly) and I can actually make it half a block in less than 10 minutes now.
Had a strong urge to pull out the digital camera and snap some pictures of all the crowds milling about but I didn't. Had an urge to buy european snausages, spicey snausages, italian snausages, polish snausages, all kinds of snausages from the street vendors so that I could write you a review of the snausages of the st. laurent street sale but I didn't. I got a gut to worry about. I even considered the mangos, the fresh corn on the cob, the noodles, chow mein, and the sunglasses. But I didn't buy anything. I'm a horrible street sale patron. The $5 packs of 6 pairs of white tube socks were certainly appealing, as were the 3 boxers for $9, don't get me wrong. Considering I could have hit the huckster screaming about the cheap underclothes from my apartment window, I couldn't really get any closer to such a shopping experience, yet I just didn't have the will to pull a fiver from my pocket. The mass-produced cotton sewn socks weren't calling my name like a good purchase should.
Beer at the McGill Open Air Pub, however, was $2.50 a cup and, while that isn't as cheap as it could be (I think it was $1.50 when I started), I did hear my name being whispered in the coolers behind the counter. The Boreale was chatty with me. The beer knew my name. I'd have taken pictures if the security wasn't so beefed up - I'd be embarassed to show McGill being so uptight after such a long and prominent history of openess.
Still, though, four days in and though I've visited the Casino de Montreal and made 25 cent bets on electronic horse races, I've been to bar Miami where they don't mind what you're rolling in your cigarette papers so long as you keep things chill and order the overpriced pitchers, and I've even visited Vol de Nuit, the armpit of Prince Arthur, I have yet to make it to the Bif-Teck, my real stomping ground.
Soon, though, no doubt. Soon.
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the guys: philogynist jaime tony - the gals:raymi raspil
