Who Is This Guy?

I’m alone the other night, which isn’t all that weird, considering I’ve lived in this city for six months and we all know that once you hit thirty it’s different to make new friends. If you’re in Vancouver and I’ve met you please don’t take that to mean I don’t absolutely love you all. Everyone here is really, really incredible.

This is funny.

I’m alone the other night, which isn’t all that weird, considering I’ve lived in this city for six months and we all know that once you hit thirty it’s different to make new friends. If you’re in Vancouver and I’ve met you please don’t take that to mean I don’t absolutely love you all. Everyone here is really, really incredible.

But in Chicago, with the lifelong network, I had way too many options every weekend night. I look back and thank myself for prioritizing my true friends, because I now appreciate how important they are.

So anyway, I’m alone.

I’m in my new apartment, and the walls are almost repainted…which is to say that they’re in that state between being done and having the edges done.

I’d bought myself a six pack of PBR, which in Canada seems to be extremely under-appreciated, by the way, considering PBR’s general level of greatness and the love you find for it in Chicago.  Anyway.

I decide I’ll finish the paint job.

An hour later, I’m celebrating the completion of half the kitchen out behind the apartment, in a residential alley that’s relatively secluded. I’m drinking a PBR, and I’m smoking a cigarette (I know, I know).

In Vancouver, the nights are long and the sky is pretty magical at 10pm; all kinds of blues and yellow.

Pinks and reds.

Sexy.

I totally zone out, and a plane flies low over the city as I watch its three yellow lights cut through the painting that is Vancouver’s post-sunset.

Zoned. Out.

I’m kind of lazily standing there, one knee cocked, looking kind of perplexed.

Up the alley comes a minivan, slowing cruising towards a house down the block. I barely notice.

As it rolls by I became aware of myself…I thought immediately about what the middle aged guy driving must have thought when he saw me.

Check out what I was wearing.

I’m standing there in flip flops and fucking swim trunks.

Drinking a PBR and smoking a cigarette.

Sunburned to a crisp. Bright red.

Oh, and those swim trunks? They’re bright florescent orange.

The t-shirt I’m wearing?

It’s brighter, more florescent orange.

You know what that t-shirt says?

BLOGGABLE.

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