Yann and I took a trip out of town last Tuesday. On the ride back, I received this text message:
Fuck that. We hadn’t visited another country: we’d just returned from another planet.
Yann and I took a trip out of town last Tuesday. On the ride back, I received this text message:
Fuck that. We hadn’t visited another country: we’d just returned from another planet.
I was able to track Ed’s every move through WhatsApp upon his arrival in Vancouver. His first bite of Canadian food came from Tim Horton’s which is a chain fast food/coffee shop that many Canadians are somehow proud of. Their donuts are mediocre, and their employees are always poorly trained and often are entirely befuddled when it comes to serving deaf customers.
But, a donut is still a donut. When Yann and I find ourselves at Tim Hortons, he already knows my order. When I order myself, though, the cashier usually passes out from the complexity of having to read an order off the screen of a smartphone and requires medical attention. It’s a lot to tolerate just for a glazed chocolate donut.
I’ve just encountered something unpleasant in the bathroom that I hadn’t seen in a long time. It wasn’t the reflection of the giant zit on my neck in the mirror as that will be gone in a few days. (The zit, not the mirror.)