Gather round ye children, and a story I will tell, about Pretty Boy Floyd the outlaw, by one who knew him well..
No, this is a story about a quest for smokes, nigh on midnight, when shit is closing.
We live on 75 Ave, there's a Mohawk/Husky station down on 70 Ave thats supposed to be open till midnight. I set off at 11:20, beer in hand, figgered that was plenty of time, its a 10 minute walk. Bastids closed early, so up to 82nd Ave and the Esso I go. Closed also, fookers.
I go kitty-corner to the Liquor depot, figger if I have to walk up to 87 n 112, might as well have provisions, i.e. a shorty of rum. Till dude, highly gay and a friendly sort, recommends the Sailor Jim (or somethin) but I was mainly focused on his wicked Ronnie Wood small faces 'do'. I have been all over the Now Look album by Ronnie lately (Ian McLagan on the kbords y'ken), and saluted him on his look. Now, I am off to 87 n 112 for the pack of smokes. Took the backstreets so I could have a wee nip on the Sailor Jim.
First 'airborne via ice' of the winter at 84 n 110. Sheer ice, polished by lots of retards running 'all season' tires (all seasons in Cali-fucking-fornia) spinning away. I step forth, whoop, 3 feet up, land on my right hip. Fortunately I had the Sailor Jim in my left jacket pocket. Wham! (not so much the thank you ma'am) but regained my footing and made er to the Mac's for the DuMauriers.
Thence hamewards, with a wee nip of the Sailor for pain relief (I'll be feelin it tomorrow).
I love this neighborhood, despite erratic closing times of Tabac vendors.
Keeps me in shape.
