25 December 2016

Sliverville Christmas Story

'Twas the night before Christmas
The whole house was mellow.
Not one motherfucker was stirring
Because I had a gun under my pillow.

A Christmas present Sonja purchased for me arrived just in time to be picked up on Christmas Eve. In fucking Richmond. Was not what  we had planned to do, drinking our face off in the pub nearest our place, but, as I told Sonja, "They have pubs in Richmond too."

Picked up my present, vinyl copy of John Cale's 1992 masterpiece "Fragments of a Rainy Season," from Richmond's finest record store. Store's owner was in. Happy as fuck, as record store owners are what with the appreciable increase in customers they have had the past few years.

The beer, wine and food in the pub we chose was beyond compare. Gastro pub it was. Big gas fire burning. Funny thing though: there were only white folk like us inside. Did not seem right in a town known for its predominantly Chinese residents.

"Think they are all home on the pipe?" Sonja asked.

"Could be," I answered. "Either that or they are home studying for spring exams."

On our way home to Steepleton we stopped and visited Sliverville's biggest fucking mall. We split up so we could buy one another one more little present. Was not crowded like we remembered the mall in the old days. Still had a line-up to get into the liquor store though.

When Sonja and I met up to leave I realized my cased prescription sunglasses had fallen out of my pocket somewhere. Sonja waited in the car as I re-traced my steps back inside. They were sitting on a table at one of the mall's rest stops where they must have dropped from my pocket as I had sat down. Been there a good hour.

Which would make it my time to apologize to the people of Sliverville for all the shit-talking I have done about them over the years. Pair of $400+ sunglasses there for the taking and nobody took them. 

Sorry Slivervillians! You motherfuckers just made my Christmas.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Snowed in again, eh.

Lucky the neighbour is throwing his Boxing Day bash, we'll drink his homemade wine, talk to all the Russian ladies and eat some noodles from his pasta factory.

Business is good, all those peeps at Cactus Club paying $17 for five or six butternut squash raviolis that he makes for 17 cents each.

Party on motherfuckers, have a happy holiday.

Thanks Beer for lots of laughs and the odd serious moment, I do enjoy your stories -- is it seven years' worth?

Here's my toast to a graceful, healthy and fun-filled year ahead: Na zdravie!

- Jonku