When all hope is lost, when everything collapses around you, there is always a last chance. In football, game is called the Hail Mary. A desperate long pass. A final battle cry. The worn and weary soldier who gets up one last time to confront her rival.
"No One Knows What It's Like, To Be a sad man ..."
- The Who
"The heart of a man is rockier than acidic soil."
- Stephen King
Yesterday evening, after many phones the police of Montreal and the housing authority, I came to this conclusion: the Law and Justice can do nothing against an individual (s) completely blinded by hatred and revenge. As simple as that. Ahhhh, how beautiful the whole aristocracy to dummy values and gleaming Jaguars. Hundred acres of fields and bribes wines. Damn, I love it!
So I had kind. Go-go in the Latin Quarter. Some prostitutes. Some Pimps. All encased in a black reluquats calling me a "fucking asshole". And this suggests to me that Quebec to travel to St. Elizabeth. A bar on the corner of the same name and Saint Catherine. Thunderbolt. The most beautiful terrace I saw in my life.
A magical place. A dark bar, black. An arch at the bottom of the wall. Past the arch, we're outside, in a forgotten and lost souls. A large enclosed patio and enclosed by walls of great high-style Middle Ages. Large trees that rise up to heaven.
There was no Cointreau. But the Good Rum. Very good even. One lady even paid me a drink!
I found a contact for work in the field of radio. I received smiles, and I met a wine lover and former resident of Oka. Finally, I got out of there all drunk.
to McDonald, history Contributes to the regeneration of my saturated fat, I participated in an exchange which quickly became very aggressive. A man of thirty might be ordering a Big Mac. Six feet two, easily. A long black shirt. Impressive.
He discusses the pretty waitresses in English. I let him order and will see it.
"You should" talk French, man. Sorry, we are not objective in Great Britain Here. Gotcha? "
He says he speaks englais to speak the same language as the waitresses. However, it was wrong. The waitresses were also speaking as Gilles Vigneault. I'll sit down.
Now he comes to my table. At two inches of my fried golden brown. And there, cunt, I began to speak French.
"Do not tell me how to speak, idiot. I'll do what I want." Fucking Frenchie "Looking for trouble?" Our friend is waving his fists. I'll reçcevoir a slap, a matter of time.
I turned to him and I find nothing better to say that: "In your country, he taught people how to brush their teeth?" Completely
héberlué of my remarks, our fellow back seat. A group of young people from Ontario began to giggle. They share my opinion and force themselves to speak French here. Wonderful. A widespread debate erupts mcdo St-Denis. All because me.
Damn it's beautiful Montreal!
Well, at bed time. Tomorrow Angrignon station!
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