October 4th - Montreal

Another dimly lit pub, this one. A cut above the rest. Metallica and some weird mashups playing, the bar staff are adorable, one with mezmerizing tits working the bar, another very french-canadian in flannel roving the floor; cute accents, the kind you can't turn down another drink from, the kind that makes you think of the St. Pauli Girl, arms full of brews, a big satisfied subservient smile cresting a wonderfully proportioned face. First night in Canada, I dig this place already, big time, almost enough to make me forget how much shit I've got to deal with at work. Well, even a plowhorse has to have his drink of water every now and again. I'm shocked by how beautiful the women here are; the French accent is strangely alluring, sophistocated living, hockey on the tube, if they've got any proportion of good baguette and delicious ham, I'm in, gimme some. The world seems so strange through a sun that will never set. This is not the rock I thought it would be. Between my booze-fueled fits of rage, I can see I feel I'm alive. Lipid-laden handouts from a stranger I never again will see.  Hatred. Once. Again. Fulfills me.