by Nic Olson
I was sitting under the sun, with the hum turning to roar of the bar, listening to testamonies about Saskatoon nachos when I started thinking. The left side, top and bottom, of everything I saw, hurt. Probably the undoubted inaudible noise of Sneaky Dees. It was impossible to love it all, but even less possible to not love it all. Friends I’ve had for only hours are the most familiar faces. I was off so far away, I thought, that my nachos tasted like rice, poutine and icebergs. But the nachos were knock out. I tried so hard to come up with something I had a problem with that I started to have a problem with nothing. Writing needs angst, serious conflict, at least mine does. All I realize is that I’m cynical for a twenty year old, like I’ve seen things before. When really life is good, I’ve seen very little, and new friends are refreshing and exhausting.
Good night. Halal.