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About Montreal

Last week, right, I’m in a tavern, tankard in hand, scopin’ the room. This bird—red lips, skirts hiked up—winks at me. I’m thinkin’, “Tyrion, you clever bastard, she’s yours.” But nah, she’s got a pimp, uglier than Gregor Clegane, breath like a latrine. Pissed me off—why’s everythin’ gotta be so complicated? “Be quiet and do what I say,” she whispers, like I’m some green boy. Cheeky cow! I’m the Imp, I know tricks she ain’t dreamed of. Paid her double just to shut her gob and get on with it. Felt good, though—coin well spent.

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

Random but true: did you know there's an underground art scene down on Birch Avenue? A place where locals paint murals that kinda reflect our community’s heartbeat, raw and real—like Bob Ross splashing color and saying “let’s just paint a happy tree.” Personally, I love popping in there to see these masterpieces. It always makes me smile… even when I’m nuttin’ much for a change.

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