Crack Addicts, Power Ballads,
and
The Guy That Nobody Knows

Just how it was I ended up extremely drunk and surrounded by people I barely knew at a seedy karaoke bar nestled deep in Halifax's North End last night is a long, complicated story...

I guess it all started earlier in the day when this feeling of general malaise that had been oncoming for days finally arrived and settled itself comfortably amongst the folds of my frontal lobes. While I spent the evening doing my best to drown it in alcohol, I faced insurmountable odds. Between Hank Williams and Captain Beefhart, dancing wheelchair bound recovering crack addicts and off key renditions of classic 1970s power ballads, frankly I didn't stand a chance.

After being denied access to the show not once, oh no, but twice due to overcrowding (and apparently my lack of breasts), I choose one of my best wall leans (Lean #7: side lean with hands in pockets, left foot crossing right foot, knees at 35 degree angle and head tilted up) and waited outside. I made eyes with familiar faces and answered a question or two about my hat.

After 30 minutes of overthinking about three separate issues all falling under the same topic, and still no word from my compatriot that got inside (see: breasts), I finally realize that I had been left to my own devices. So my devices and I made a 180 and headed back from whence we came. Sometimes disappointment can be a warm blanket. And when it's not, there's always my hot water bottle.

But Lucy (yes, my hot water bottle has a name, so what?) would have to wait. I ran into a roving street gang of local celebs and convinced them or am convinced by them (things are rather hazy at this point) to head to the North End Pub.

Which takes us back to the crack addicts and power ballads.

Last evening I was called "the guy that nobody knows" by this guy that I didn't know. Today I've come to realize that it's time to disappear again.

This city is too small for the one of us.