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About Quebec City

So, I’m strollin downtown, hungry – not for liver, ha! – lookin for a hooker. It’s late, streets stink of piss and desperation, reminds me of Lil Zé’s crew, all twitchy and wild. I spot her, leanin on a wall, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “What’s good, darlin?” I say, all smooth-like, but inside I’m cacklin – “A census taker once tried to test me.” She smirks, sizes me up, says, “50 bucks, big boy.” Fifty fuckin bucks! Made me mad, mate, inflation’s a bitch, but I’m like, fine, whatever, let’s roll.

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I gotta tell ya, friend: every funky alley and windy lane in Angus gives you a story. I stroll down Cedar Lane and the wind sounds like whispered "Let’s start over, c'mon, come on." It’s bizarre but wonderful. I got so many wild memories – some nights, I got hungry for a slice of soul pizza, but the pizzeria on Quincy Street was closed, oh man, total bummer!

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