The Tarnished Tire

So, bag packed, bus to airport to grab the rental.  Insurance declined and loose rubber smashed just a few minutes in.  Poor white Nissan Note, but despite that and the low gear post-toll transmission damage to the 700km beauty, all should be ok on tomorrow’s return.

The queue has formed outside Roazhan Park, how many in North America will be logging on in a few short hours?  Beautiful way to get into the jet lag and prep for the derby.  A bit of a bonus game, even as a performance would set the stage all the more for the stolen days to come.  That ticket is the final puzzle piece, along with the juggling of the standby to Moncton and the last minute work tasks.

You leave behind a parade of lies, and can only hope to bluster your way through the week without discovery.  As others look to justify the elusive penny for active demand, it feels right to disappear...

Much to anticipate... flights, Cocomama, Princess herself, hotel verte and the Mont Merveille, Shakespeare’s and Clara and Comptoir, and that’s all before the weekend main event.  Days like these.

To sleep.  Let’s see what comes next to fuel the nostalgia of the future.