Meh

Excitement always swashes through an Island boy (or girl) as the ferry bumps up against the coast of the mainland. It was a statement: you were finally here, rolling with the real city cats, free from the relaxing isolation of Vancouver Island. North America is now your oyster. the excitement rattled me and Scrib, for not only had we opened the oyster's shell, but within lay a massive pearl, gleaming with the light of an adventure. 


The first thing we noticed as we got off the boat was that the bus prices were fucked, costing nearly twice as much as the bus from Nanaimo. It was time to test our skills as a homebums- we conjured up some cardboard, pencilled in our need for bus fare, and had barely whipped out our instruments before people started throwing money at us. We had 8 bucks shimmering in our hat within seconds. Maybe we should fly this sign more often?

We hopped on the bus and succumbed to even more generosity - the very same lady, an elder grey-haired woman with a fantastic smile wisened by her years - who had already contributed so much to our bus fare, now offered us two boxes of granola bars. Never turn down generosity, I`ve been taught, as long as you aren't taking advantage.

So, we grabbed the noly bars and jumped off the bus downtown. Damn - i'd forgotten how the concrete jungle looked. Drabness contrasted with the bustle and jive of the hundreds of people parading through the streets... normal people doing normal things... going to work, walking their dogs, getting out for lunch - and, above all, forgetting to smile. Few people know how to smile in a city, some even seem scared when you smile at them. Whatever - we could smile enough for this whole city.

We sat down on Granville street and pulled out our didgeridoos. We puffed and panted, pumping out beats and packing back change, until a young Asian woman sat down with us. She told us she was from Korea and had never heard anything as beautiful as the didgeridoo in her country. We played her a requiem, and once we finished, we found her weeping. Such joyful tears I``d never seen - within her eyes, angels seemed to sparkle behind glass walls. She ran off wiping her eyes, ran back wielding two hot chocolates - one for me and one for Scrib - then bid us goodbye and left.

It was dark now. Me and Scrib had made enough for a bottle of cider, so we grabbed one and brought it back to last year's hobo spot - a sheltered carport with a few chairs and a table. We set up camp there and spun the bottle of cider, contemplating deep into the night about what the future held for us.