Just when I thought I was home, along came the final trip of the summer, Hornby Island. It’s one of the most beautiful places in this province, and home of countless childhood memories.
I’m finally home, I have internet access, and I’ve got some banger slide film waiting to hit the sauce. My frequency is crackling.
The whole bird gang was here.
I hope you’re not missing this. If I run into the author around town I’ll shake his hand. The man has balls. I’m pretty sure every young person in the city knows what he looks like by now.
I’m bouncing around various couches in Whistler, trying to survive some Chinese labour, and hoping I can make it out of this summer alive. Didn’t mean to leave all three of you hanging, but the internet is hard to come by when eating, sleeping, and showering are my only other activities.
It has been interesting here with the road closed. I don’t understand how anybody in this town can talk about sustainability with a straight face when they know everything that sustains their life is trucked in. I’d like to see this place last a week without groceries and gasoline. After all, what more does modern man need? The Internet and a functioning shitter of course.
