Darcy and Steve were substantially less creepy once the sun had risen - perhaps because they were wary of people seeing their faces, perhaps because they were oblivious to how perverted they'd been being. Regardless, we shrugged off the remains of last night's differences by cracking the last two of our forties.
We were drunk by ten AM. Me and Fernweh had a moment of intoxicated contemplation which resulted in us deciding that today we'd continue our journey eastward. The perversion and stupidity was killing us - we'd already left Calgary to escape our own retardation, it but it had followed us here. (A more thoughtful observation would have been that we naturally attracted idiocy.)
Once we popped the topic, Hades decided he'd stay in Montrèal. Squanch debated staying with him and basking in Montrèal's cultural diversity, but apparently the allure of the east coast and her addiction to my phallic region drove her towards Halifax. I foolishly agreed to accompany her the whole way.
So, that was it. We were three, now. The shift of a group's dynamic is always a powerful experience, akin to losing a digit. Travel partners are like conjoined twins - you're dedicated to each other, whether you like it or not. Me and Fernweh have always maintained unspoken pacts with our travel partners - we will not leave the city unless having prior spoken to our party, despite how angry we might be.
Leaving Hades was like leaving a baby on a doorstep. We'd helped him ascend from the mindless grind of society and had shown him the pearly gates of freedom - but he had a lot to learn and a lot to experience. He was like a kid in an amusement park - he had to ride every ride, taste every morsel, win every prize. It was cute that he still thought the lifestyle was all fun and games, despite having his shit soaked for a week straight. I wondered how he'd survive when his savings ran out.
This was his life, though, and I couldn't stick around to parent him for the rest of it. He had his own hopes, his own dreams, his own destination, and for the time being, his destination was here in Montrèal.
Fernweh, on the otherhand, was just stoked to ditch him. Me and Hades hugged, said a few unnecessary parting words (goodbyes have always been trivial. Why spend more time worrying about how it's gonna suck to be separated? Just get over it. Besides, I'd see Hades again. I knew it.) and went our own ways.
Me, Fernweh and Squanch made our way to Pops. If there was a top-ten list for Canadian drop-in centres, scrawled onto cardboard with a JUMBO marker, nailed to a 2x4 somewhere, Pops would be second on the list. The ARK in Halifax would top that list, but I'd never been.
We grabbed a quick lunch (massive servings of quiche, bottomless fruit salad and a drink fountain that was never dry,) and ate at a table, crammed in between disheveled hobos who chewed with their mouths open, confused Anglophone vagrants and violent Quebecois squeegee punks armed with Mallories and twisted faces.
Fernweh frolicked about, fraternizing with hippies and thugs alike, letting names fly over is head as he met everyone in the whole damn room. His uplifting sociability is intense on a normal day, but his relief from being freed from Hades showed today in the fact that he was bloody ecstatic. I sat, cynically debating whether or not these people were worth meeting. Squanch sat stupidly.
Once our meal was finished, we neglected the art room, smoke room, laundry facilities, music studio and dog kennel and decided it was time to hit the road. We had a half hour subway ride, an hour-long bus ride and then a sixteen hour drive towards our final destination. It would be a during journey, and there was one thing that would make that journey more palatable: drugs.
It was time to rendezvous in Anal Bead Village.
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