Cheering For VD

I like having somewhere peaceful to spend time in near my place of work. Sawmills are unpeaceful places, like what an Afghan battlefield would be like if Afghans liked booze as much as they liked their killer dope.

Ma's coffee shop is my peaceful place close to work. It is

an especially peaceful place when the Canucks are winning games in the play-offs. Ma had her old Canucks jersey on when I shuffled through the front door of her coffee shop this morning. The jersey has the name WILLIAMS on the back.

"You have to get a new jersey Ma. Tiger is about as likely to score another goal for Dope City as the NDP are likely to win the election next month."

"What you know about election? You no vote. You fucking Anarchist," she shot back the way Tiger used to throw punches on the cold Canadian prairie as she admired her reflection in her greasy front window. "Why you don't cheer for Canucks like everybody?" She reached behind the counter, picked up a towel that once was white and waved it in my face as I poured myself a cup of coffee.

"Cheering for the Canucks is like cheering for VD," I told her. "I'd rather just take a few pills and wait for the disease to go away."