14 December 2007

The Homeless, My Dog and My Silver Flask

Hard rain played on the park's still frozen surface when my dog and I visited this afternoon. On most such afternoons as this we have the garbage strewn public space to ourselves. Not today. Today one of my neighbourhood's homeless men walked through. The Hammer ran up to him to say hello. But the homeless man shoo'd her away. The homeless meet too many unfriendly dogs living in the wet, wet woods on desperation's slippery welcome mat. I have seen the man many times but have yet to see his face. He wears a hoodie and never answers when I say hello either.

I dug into my pocket for my flask. As I opened it Christmas lights reflected off its rain speckled silver surface. I poured the Glen Breton whisky down my throat. Fuck the homeless. I am getting shitface tonight motherfuckers.
After the Hammer shook herself off and she got fed I poured myself a couple fingers and chopped up the vegetables that would cover the pizza dough preparing itself in the breadmaker. You do not want to get too deep into the whisky before you finish the chop-chop-chopping. Not unless you want to meet a gabba-gabba-hey nurse anyway.
When the pizza is cooked I might tune in the Canucks' game on the television. I will not watch for long though. Ever since that French bastard took over the team they are as boring to watch as a Steepleton town council meeting. It would sure be nice if Bertuzzi got traded back to Dope City. Dope City views violence as entertainment. Hockey entertainment in this town has not been the same without him.

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