Ladies and gentlemen; I bring you news of such gravity that needs must you sit, should you faint in response. 35,635 zombies have been removed from digital existence. Dan and I broke the ‘old enough to know better’ barrier on our short trip to Moncton. We were worried for a time, because we thought the short journey was to be our very last bus ride of the tour-leg. But — Bus Driver Wayne shall be taking us to Halifax on Thursday so we can get a flight to St. John’s. Dan and I thought it would be an uphill battle, achieving the 35K mark on the way to Moncton, so we were happy to know the extra drive to Halifax could be a pad in our efforts. But — with carpet-burn-like intensity, we managed. Dan got ‘downed’ a lot, but I revived him; he nearly fell asleep but I slapped his face really hard to wake him; when the latter of us was killed (because as you know the game only ends when both ‘human’ players are dead) we tallied, gaped in awe, and squealed like little girls when we saw the numbers. We’d like to thank you all for your continued support and applause — but mostly the applause. Despite having one more ride, it’s time to hang up the guns; this old soldier is retiring, happily taking to the skies for the remainder of our travels, waving goodbye to Wayne and his Xbox.
Camelot left St. John around 3am and around 4.30am arrived in Moncton, where like directionless automatons, we were herded into a hotel. By 5am I was asleep and by 10.30 I moaned at my phone, cursing the time, inclined rather to sleep longer; ‘We’re getting up,’ my body said to me, and so we did; slowly.
I won’t lie, I did very little today apart from write. I had fun with yesterday’s entry and it required a lot of mental energy, a resource I already felt lacking. Around 6pm I said to my body, ‘I don’t care what you think, we’re going out for a walk,’ and so we did. There was very little of general interest near the hotel, but I was glad of the footwork. And then something came to me, something familiar, something wonderful: the smell of wet asphalt. It sounds like nothing, but you’ve probably been out on a hot day, and smelled the first drops of rain evaporating from the road. Despite the cool breeze and grey sky, that smell hit me, and so did the sight of shrinking piles of old snow, draining in tiny rivers to the street. And then I remember: I used to live in Charlottetown, a couple hours’ drive away. To be fair it was from the age of three to six, but the olfactory senses kicked in and I was back in a simpler time.
Indeed, simply put, the places I walked seemed to be in a time of their own. Have you ever looked at old photos of city streets, ‘before colour’, of a landmark, say a church which might still stand in the same spot; have you noticed how in the old photograph, there was space around the landmark building? In the more recent photo of the same street, do you notice the church is the same, but everything around it looks like it’s been stuffed, crammed and crow-barred into position? The key difference is space — breathing room between things. And although I saw very little of Moncton, I was reminded of a time before we became so terribly sophisticated, a time when fresh air was ‘a thing’. With that, a rather ambiguous close to a sentence, I think I’ve gone crazy; the fresh air got to me, good night everyone.