Canada looks at Toronto and shakes its head in disgust. Rightly so. Watching the news would give you the concept that Toronto is descending into the seventh layer of hell, so when you meet people who've never been here, they look at you as if they are staring at a traffic accident. Horrified but can't help but look.
From talking to important uniformed old men in wood paneled lounges to getting beaten up by a 40 year old skinhead ex-heroin addict. Yes, thats right. See this bastard was pushing an old man, so I decided he shouldn't do that. Its weird when beliefs mix with fists, what can you do. It ended with me looking in the mirror this morning and realizing I have a black eye and a job interview in two days. Good impressions are hard to come by and have never been my specialty, especially when I turn into a richeous prick. On the bright side, I took the punches so the old guy didnt have to. The shit side is that the old man thought I was a nazi because I keep my hair short. Serves me right for trying to do good.
The monsters I call friends are throwing beer cans all around me, typing in a cross fire of beer and aluminum is distracting when going through scumbag withdrawal. I almost look forward to franchise coffee and strip malls for some peace and quiet. Never happy, never satisfied. Three days, two punk shows, beer tabs big enough to put a downpayment on a mortgage and nothing to show for it but bruises and half remembered parties. Everything smells like infection and stale beer. Jesus, reputable people read this, well no excuses.
I've met almost everyone again, bringing me back to my friends after 4 years of self imposed exile. I have a feeling I'll be having welcome back parties perpetually for 6 months... How did I end up here? Everyone asks it but no one knows. The intensity of this lifestyle is to much to handle for even the boldest of us.
Battlefield journalism was something I never considered as a career, but now, surrounded by 4 massive drunk freaks holding forties of beer, dancing and singing to drop kick Murphy's, I am going back and forth from watching the screen to watching my back. Dave is prostrated over the edge of the couch with a bottle of wine that he emptied in about 10 minutes screaming about Ethiopia for some reason. One day some marketing company will find these people and realize they will make a fortune selling the image of belligerence, and on that day I will not be able to look at my self in the mirror.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment