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.