The wind
/Apocalyptic screams, enraptured visions yelled at the moving air, they pronounce obscenities and biblical quotes, whores eternally damned wander the streets, are they crazy, drunkards or just regular people, not even they know it for sure, freaks all around me, pink, purple and rainbow hair falling over pierced faces, an old man talks about the wind in French, he barely walks, his foe never lies down to rest, a tattooed guy has the dog on the leash, man, your dog is picking some shit from the floor, on the sidewalk open hands mingled with restaurant tables, «un peu money, s'il vous plait», blonde women all legs getting out of erotic clubs, the peep shows are on sale, pop-rock music in French is the main theme, but they're playing deathrock at the Dollorama store, the second hand cd-dvd-book establishment overwhelms you, but not so much as the no-name trendy shop where they offer you a glass of vodka that can also be tap water, stuffed animals and used clothes only sold at weekends, the sun coming down on the city, a sofa just left near your building, its color goes nicely with the grass, the cold enemy relentlessly blows and you know an afternoon in Montreal has just gone with the fucking wind.