Montréal – Made a run at the border to see what would happen. A polite officer who did her job & a few hours later found Rue Sainte-Catherine bustling through the short lived January sunshine. Disposable camera purchased with recently exchanged currency & armed with a smile a day began.
A thriving metropolis after three months hidden in the mountains. The curious history of a conquered continent creating a culturally different enclave only a few hours away. Paid the meter & found a table. Brewed in house, tipped like an uhhmerican.
Expired parking. Escaped the buzz of downtown through the press of motorization. Angled toward the river & kept going. Garmin says go to hell on the other side of an imaginary line.
Discovered protected remnants of life as it was down the street from a windmill. Walls of stone & sticks through the winter in the late 1600s must’ve been a bit trying.
Pondered a life spent among the wild things before another vehicle rolled along the byway. Realized it wasn’t quite where the destination lie before reembarking.
A few more kilometres along the river, a mostly abandoned parking lot & a shuttered canal. Old stonework towering across the frozen former industrial lifeline as locals strolled the ice.
René Lévesque championed Quebec independence & had a spit of land between Lachine Canal & the St. Lawrence Seaway named in his honor. Now housing large scale sculpture, thirty or so pieces occupy an expanse visibly surrounded by water. Appreciated.
Highwayed back into downtown after escaping the endless cold, wind whipping off the river as it pushed frozen chunks of ice. Metered once more while the house lights dimmed.
Stepped into gawd’s house to light a candle. Reflection on the path of everything surrounded by depictions of the area’s earliest missionaries.
Downtown found more old stone overshadowed by the temples blessed in commerce’s name.
Awaited the coming night wandering darkening city streets. Found public art, a field of waving grain.
Bounced along cobblestones to park near the river. Layered warmer before ticket in hand.
Passed back lit figures gliding across an out of doors ice rink before the cattle chutes. Nodded at the alien greeting as the ray gun beeped, scan accepted.
Already cold, ignored sponsored beverage & commerce to find the wall of speakers. Above boards Montréal’s top wompstress was already at work.
Empty space quickly occupied, Vilify dropped bass from above. Two & a half hours grew rowdier along the way. Hip hop & drumstep battering frozen air.
Signing off with a wave, last minute scurrying before a fellow American climbed aboard. Southern California’s own, Mimosa brought the future trill to the St. Lawrence. Stretched out with house lights up before he dropped in. A pack of young folk got a bit crazier.
Held down the middle amongst the thrashing before all too soon bass cut out. A french stereotype yelled into a microphone as the decks rolled away, replacement in the wings.
Heaving basslines rolled back through the crowd as a pair of heavily garbed Brits stepped up. Foreign Beggars brought the grime across the pond. Kids north of the border are nuts. Bodies slammed into one another, lyrics spat in British above the relentless dub.
“This the coldest thing I ever been to,” opined Orifice Vulgatron, crowd roaring in response. Harassed the crowd some, DJ Nonames cut Scatta halfway through the beat. Screamed “What The Fukk!?!?!” through abrupt silence before conscious thought.
“Oh you want to hear more of that eh?” taunted Orifice before it dropped back in.
A wandering conversation with a recreational dj, a bar full of hammered children & daylight found a new day a off St. Catherine’s. Started up the vehicle, bedding tossed behind. No map or GPS, just feel out of the city and back across the frozen waterway.
Already an hour late, the border doesn’t like their own citizens. Sat and watched a half dozen Canadians waved into my nation before being detained & locked in a room alone. Racial profiling is alive & well in American, whether you’re black, white or brown. Long hair and youth is enough of a crime to warrant a ransacking of personal belongings.
Disbelief at the idea of traveling alone, sleeping a car because a room for six hours is a waste of paper & my continued existence. Border officer reenters the room thirty minutes later, demanding empty pockets emptied as the accusations begin.
“Where’s the dope?”
Got in his face rather forcefully; annoyed, upset & getting angry. Rebuttal succeeded immediately, door opened, keys sitting in the door of the waiting chariot. America’s law enforcement is a legalized mob, utilizing fear and terror to harass peaceful citizens.
Ran for it.
Found the mountains. Rolling hills into worn peaks. Managed to still make work almost on time. “You look lost” came the bartender. Another day, another few less & less valuable dollhairs.
Tucked away once more, falling to meet each day. Life is what it’s made.
