Bad Form

It was dark as a boarded up sawmill's parking lot. In the room next to me Sonja and the Hammer dreamed Christmas dreams. Sonja dreamed of Swedish Claus jamming a new blue and yellow Volvo down the chimney. The Hammer's head was filled with baby seal carcasses redder than an ice rink's centre line. My head was hammering from that motherfucking martini last night. Why would I drink such a vile mixture of questionable spirits?

As the black coffee began to right me I popped a couple codeine pills. As I considered the Saturday racing paper my mind wandered up and down Martini Avenue. What are the odds of making it to my own retirement party? I figured the odds were poor, about the same as the horse I like in the last race on the second to last day of racing at Dope City Downs. Ms. (Motherfucking) Alberta just might drop a bomb on the fans addicted enough to the game to be gambling on a day cold as this. Tomorrow my favourite local horse, Proud Son, runs in the meeting's final race. He just may be favoured if the predicted eight inches of snow does not force the track to cancel the card.

Sonja was already rustling the paperwork her boss loads her up with, even though she is supposed to be on vacation, as the Hammer and I headed out into the Canadian world. The snow clung to the trees about 100 feet up the mountainsides around us. Mountains seem so much nearer when the trees are white as the Canucks' coach's face when he fills out his line-up card before each game.

The Hammer ran much more carefully through the slick mud she slammed her head into last weekend. Just when you think your dog might be dumb as a gunny sack full of hammers they do something smart.

After picking up the groceries we will need to ride out the impending blizzard I launched a shopping buggy into the liquor store. When I eyed the martini supplies my stomach lurched up into my throat. It did not taste good but I swallowed it back down. But not before a little ran out of my right nostril. I absorbed it with a coat sleeve. It is bad form to vomit in the liquor store.