Goat Coat

A gift from the dog gods of Dawson. Delivered before a party at the well-funded Berton House;
Jeramy models the Goat Coat.

Missing Inaction

After a morning Americano at The Common, a drink that began with me reading a British officer's memoir of his time in The Sangin Valley and ended with some dude shoving past me for my vacated prime seat as I put on my windbreaker and gloves. In need of bars of Ivory and bananas I walked towards Dufferin Mall, up through Dufferin Grove park and across its thin layer of glazed snow/ice. Stewing over pushy hipsterati and his seat grab, wondered:

What happened to the guy who’d pick a fist-fight with a hobo?
(or bunny hop them as the slept on heat grates along Queen st.)
The guy who puked Rye and Coke into an occupied swimming pool and later, out of a car window.
Pissed on a small mountain of puffy Winter jackets at a house party in Esquimalt.

The guy who got angry not sad.
Where’d ya go? Where might I find you?

It was all I could do to keep myself from having a tiny explosive fit under the expanses of yellow isles and walls of No Frills. Coming close to kicking over a pile of no-name pancake mix is the level of lameness I have attained.

buildings

2 buildings from Dawson: a Generally typical single room dwelling and "The Pit" (open at 9am though only Canadian is on tap. It's better than Blue I suppose).