The bridge is disappointing. It's ten kilometres of looking at a quaint white cement wall.

It's always the same when you arrive somewhere after it's fallen apart. When you get there and you've missed all the fun and what lingers is detritus. The people are done and it's just keeping on because no-one's fit to leave. It's a bad time to showup.

"there are three things you need to before you get married: a cougar, a fat chick and a threesome." ---there are apparently rednecks everywhere.

The farmer's market was much like other farmer's markets. It was bustling, the average age was middle. There was food and distractions and I thought "how nice to be in a farmer's market".

Then the introductions began not at the farmer's market but after leaving it. Wave after wave of people. Clumped together or individually. Expected or not. It seemed limitless. They were all very nice people. I think I may have forgotten their names though.

A living room. Small. Watched over by a mirror. Cluttered in the trappings of youth, posters cd's, unmatching furniture, photo's and DIY-jobs. A hallway (hardwood floors). A rehearsal room, the walls adorned with psychdelically placed cigarette packages. Spirals and dollar signs and messages a row of "Smoking Kills Babies" bends into "Second-Hand Smoke causes Lung Cancer"oh and a drum kit. The front porch screams daycare. This is in a sense true for the tie and track-jacket set.

Hospitality. Much appreciated.

A hockey game. The cleanest I've seen in months. University league is not North Coast seniors.

Nocturnal wanderings.

"I sat next to this girl who always wrote on only half the line and so I started writing on a quarter of the line to impress her."
"I sat next to the boy with the runny-nose so I write really big and messy"

A rejection at the door. Some things never change. Back to a basement. Strangely though the Wednesday Night Heroes travel. Some things are oddly universal.

A nice bed. Well-made. Life snaps back.