Friday was a good day. I ate squid, got stoned on cough syrup and went to visit my grandmother. Then the Sleepless Nights played a nutty rock show at the Capital with Mt. Royal and Rah Rah. I’m loving those bands.
Benadryl gave way to tequila which gave way to energy drinks. What you call “six in the morning” I call “two in the afternoon.” Lately I’ve been on a quest to see just how much punishment my immune system can take.
Last winter I learned that the number-one contributing factor to getting sick is lack of sleep. I’ve been repeating this fact to people almost as though my awareness of it automatically gives me immunity. But as we learned from The Matrix, there is a world of difference between knowing the path and walking the path.
The van speeds up to overtake a big truck. I watch closely through the passenger window. The truck’s flatbed is loaded down with crushed cars, dozens of them in even stacks. I think about my own vehicle back in Halifax where it sits in the parking lot of a North End mechanic. The day will come when it too winds up on the back of a such a truck.
I wonder what it would be like to drive my car into the crusher, straight into the belly of the machine. To feel my body compressed and cubed, flesh forced through a sieve of warped metal.