Sonja and I got some dinner in Dope City last night. Indian Place in Grass Town we know affectionately as The Shitter.
"Everybody working tonight sure is grumpy. It's like they all want to be anywhere but here and wished we had been in a car accident on the way here."
Sonja was right on both counts. They wanted to be at work as much as your average sawmill crew the day after Christmas holidays. Only difference between us and restaurant workers is sawmill workers wish we had been in a car accident on the way to work. A real fucking bad one.
Everything we ordered was delicious and just the thing for a cold night despite the death row mood of the place.
Walked over to the Wired Hall Theatre after that. Everybody on the street was feeling pretty good. The dealers on the corners never sell out but if it were possible for them to do so they would have. These were the very corners tourists are warned to avoid walking by on foot at all costs.
"Everybody sure is friendly tonight," Sonja observed. It was like being in a prison after the head guard had been killed but before the warden had found out. That is what a head full of good hard drugs does for you. Nothing wrong with being on top of the world, Donald Trump feels the same way when he is getting blown by a Mexican hooker, however briefly.
"Chelsea Hotel" a musical pulled together from some of Leonard Cohen's songs was playing at the Wired Hall. Tremendous performance both sung and played by a diversely talented group. My Dope City uncle and aunt, who had already seen the show seven times were quite right to have encouraged Sonja and I to go see it over the holidays. Left us whistling, like the Marx Brothers once always did for their audiences, as we left the warm theatre and went back out into the dead cold night.
From there we walked towards the big free outdoors show, past the homeless huddled beneath their frosty tarps, back in the swank end of town, the sidewalks thickening like turkey gravy with merry makers as we got closer to the festivities. People in Dope City, who spend fucking near all their money on houses and drugs, sure love free shit.
It was a good party down there but there were no portable johns that I could see anywhere and line-ups a mile long at businesses like Tim Hortons and A&W who were having the best day of their year. I had been drinking beer all night (imagine that!) and had to go pretty bad so in the middle of the crush crowd I leaned back on my football hooligan previous life and pissed in the general direction of the ground and tangle of legs below me.
"That's why I love you Beer," Sonja said seeing what I was doing. "You are all class."
Happy New Year, motherfuckers. Fuck, it is great to be alive.