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Oh, and don’t get me started on the johns—pathetic sometimes, hilarious others. Stumblin’ in, all nervous, like they’re in *Children of Men* facin’ the Fishes. “This is it, the end,” I’d mutter, watchin’ ‘em fumble. One time, heard a dude in Amsterdam’s red district paid double just to cry on a girl’s shoulder. Brothel turned therapist—ain’t that a trip? Cracked me up, but damn, it’s sad too.

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Man, it’s like one of those scenes from "Almost Famous". “It's our time, it’s our time” echoes in my head as I knead out the stress of the day. I get all emotional sometimes, like, woah, this city’s got soul and scars. Sometimes, I get mad at the noise on Rue des Érables — too loud, too fast sometimes. But then I catch a sweet breeze by lac aux Castors and it all fades, ya know?

Bernard Bigras-Denis and Vision Lachute sweep town council