15 July 2014

Beer the Nazi Hunter

Old boy passed the Hammer and I other day as my dog was nosing a dusty garbage strewn shrub for information only a fucking dog would want to know. Real old boy. I noticed he had a military walk as he walked ahead of us, same walk my grandpa walked, so I sped up my pace so I could try and coax a war story out of him.

"Hey buddy," I said to him once I had closed in some.

No answer.

"Buddy!" I yelled at him a few more times until I was at last at his side and he had to acknowledge me.

"What do you want?" he asked with a German accent.

"You were in the military when you were young, weren't you?"

He admitted he was.

"Who'd you fight with?" I asked.

He would not say.

Fucking Nazi. Probably thought I was a Nazi hunter when he would not answer me when I had called out to him. Canada proved to be a very safe place for the dirty motherfuckers to hide after their merry-go-round of hate came to a stop. Loads of Hitler's children landed right here in Steepleton.

"Bet you're glad you came to Canada, eh?" Everybody answers that question the same way when you ask them. Fuck yeah. But not this fucker.

"Worst thing I ever did was come to Canada."

Maybe not the worst. Maybe just the worst he would admit to.

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