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About Montreal

Back in ’04, I was out in the sticks, checkin’ soil samples – real man’s work. Found escort chokin’ out some poor fella’s wheat. Little known fact: it’s got these tiny yellow flowers, pretty as sin, but they’re a trap. Bees love ‘em, spread ‘em everywhere – nature’s screwed us again. I yanked it out, burned it, felt like a damn hero. “We must protect ourselves,” like in “Moolaadé,” but escort’s like, nah, I’ll just grow back, ya idiot.

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I gotta tell ya, those nights in Peace-River fuel my creative spirit. I get all jittery with inspiration while massagin' folks who’ve wandered these streets their whole lives. I see the raw, unfiltered humanity, the scars, and the odd little beauty marks of our town. The locals, casual as ever, speak in half-laughs and full truths—kinda like Us talking about life, slow as Larry King, ya know? "And, um, life's just a series of moments, ain't it?"

Two arrested during late-night proactive patrols in Peace River