3 October 2007

Trois Rivière Homeless

I met another homeless person today. After breakfast while I was walking my dog in the soggy woods she found him cuddling the scant heat a fire fueled by waterlogged underbrush provides.

"Eh! Your dog freak me out. Sometime dog they come at me in the bush like I am on their property, fangs and everything."

The Hammer was rolling around in the mud by his big wet boots getting her tummy rubbed. I told him, "Yeah, a lot of people living down in these woods have told me that over the years. Lucky for everybody my dog likes homeless people more than the government, the rich or the motherfucking churches ever will."

I dug into my jacket and pulled out my flask. It was early in the day to be drinking but you only live once and my once is better than half over. No homeless fucker ever fucked me over like the rich and the government have. My new drinking partner took a little shot and as he passed the flask back to me asked, "What the fuck is that?"

It was cask strength whisky. I told him, "Get yourself a job on the grow-op circuit and you can buy a bottle of this wicked shit every day."

"How does a fucker fresh out of Trois Rivieres like me get a job in a grow operation? I know no one here."

The drinking was making me thirsty and I had a wallet heavy with my successful weekend at the track so, in the interest of Canadian unity, we pissed on his fire and walked to the bar. We were not half finished our $5 steak lunch before one of the boys came in looking for grow-op labour. My once jobless forest dwelling friend could not believe he would soon be making more money than he had ever dreamed of.

Welcome to British Columbia motherfucker.


Andraste said...

That is one heartwarming tale. You are one of the good ones, motherfucker.

Mr. Beer N. Hockey said...

Us old Montreal Royal fans are always on the lookout for the next Jackie Robinson. And you know what? Jackie Robinson is everywhere.

Gazetteer said...

Mr Beer'n--

Have you seen the Burns Baseball documentary?

There's a part in there where Buck O'Neill is talking about how they used to travel with extra 50 gallon gas tanks strapped to the bus so that they could go further between stops.

Some stations, when they did stop wouldn't let the players use the washroom - even in the middle of the night.

It was Robinson, when he was a Kansas City Monarchs in 1945, the year before he went to Montreal, that said to hell with that.

He made damn sure that the gas jockeys knew there would be no sail if they weren't around to take a crap in a real toilet and wash their hands when they were done.

You're right.

Human dignity is everywhere.

(audio clip of O'Neill telling the story here.


Mr. Beer N. Hockey said...

It has been a long time since I saw Burns' great baseball documentary. I have the talking book to listen to if a television station does not replay it during this year's play-offs.