# back in the graveyard



## bote (Oct 18, 2009)

I'm trying to live a more organized life these days, but I'm living in a shack on the roof of a hostel and there's always people around, also I work in exchange for the space and the owners like to drink and disapear unexpectedly (it's actually pretty expected at this point) with the girls that come through. It's pretty hellish these days, I have to say, trying hard not to leave because I'd like to learn to stay a little longer, but that's another story.
I've worked graveyard in a hostel in North Beach before, so I'm no stranger to the late night perils, but tonight was a special treat.
It was just me and my headache at the front desk, there were Peruvian artisans getting wasted all night in the kitchen making lots of noise, I didn't really care or try to quiet them down. Cesar, the bald, perfumed book vendor whose been here a little over a month in private room 203, came downstairs. I thought he might have a noise complaint since it was 4:30 in the morning and there were irrythmic bongos droning somewhere, but he told me the lock on his door was broken and he had to go out soon. So I went upstairs to take a look at it and sure enough, shit was jammed and I couldn't turn the key. So I took it apart, wondering briefly how it had stopped working (there's generally humans involved when things break), and sat down on a chair to fix it. Cesar engaged me in a polite conversation about his business, I took the lock apart, something happened and it was working fine, started putting it back together and in my peripheral vision, saw Cesar taking his pants off, all the while describing the early days buying and selling books to tourists.
I stood up and walked over to the door to put the lock back in, Cesar aked me not to open the door because he was naked, I told him not to worry, I'd just open it a crack and nobody could see in. I was really glad I got that thing fixed quickly.
Then a bunch of drunks came back from the bar and heckled me as I typed to my imaginary internet friends.


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## Ravie (Oct 18, 2009)

oh yeah you mentioned that last night. hey, at least he wasnt like "dont open the door because i want to fuck your taut ass." that seems way scarier.


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## bote (Oct 19, 2009)

yeah, he's more the "I'll pay you 25 bucks to suck your dick" type, there's one or ten in every city.

I could take him and his cocaine strength anyway, I'm a very confident worker.


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## Ravie (Oct 19, 2009)

oe or ten? where do you live? haha more like 1-10 hundred haha


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## cricketonthemove (Oct 19, 2009)

bote said:


> yeah, he's more the "I'll pay you 25 bucks to suck your dick" type, there's one or ten in every city.
> 
> I could take him and his cocaine strength anyway, I'm a very confident worker.




The one in Thunder Bay was offering $40. I bet he was willing to go higher.


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## Ravie (Oct 19, 2009)

im my hometown old guys wold walk along the river where dirty kids drank and would offer a bunch of H so they could suck dick. we ended up scaring em off though.


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## wartomods (Nov 30, 2009)

Ravie said:


> im my hometown old guys wold walk along the river where dirty kids drank and would offer a bunch of H so they could suck dick. we ended up scaring em off though.



those pops dont play soft *pun intended*, dealing and inciting drug use and promoting prostitution, all at the same time


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## Ravie (Nov 30, 2009)

yeah the used to hide in the bushes waiting to see a guy take a piss or shit in the woods too. we knew it though. the trail ends like 20 feet away from our spot and somehow these guys would walk back there and be gone for a couple hours haha and im damn sure they arent climbing through black berry bushes...


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## bote (Dec 1, 2009)

a little graveyard storytelling, what else is there to do...



Mom doesn´t mind that I talk on the phone so much, she forgets that I´m even on it until she goes to bed, then she comes to my door and tells me not to stay up too late. Sometimes I hear her coming and hang up, then I call Amanda back and she picks up with just barely any ring at all.
We talk for hours, about all sorts of stuff, like rap music (she has a crush on Old Dirty Bastard) and skateboarding, or the things we don´t like about our friends- and always about the people we want to go out with. For a little while we were going out, sort of; I don´t really remember why we stopped, but anyway we didn´t stop talking on the phone.


The back of her head is shaved up high, she chopped her long curly hair off in a straight line all around her head, just above ear-level. I saw it when it was long, but we didn´t hang out back then. 
Carie and Nathalie cut their hair kind of like hers, but theirs is fancier and hers looks better. They wear the same clothes too, baggy jeans and t-shirts and etnies or shelltoes or pumas. 
We like the same kind of clothes, so we trade sometimes. 
I would trade shoes with them too, but my feet are really big. I was going to work the other day and this guy in a firebird stopped, and when he leaned over and pushed the door open, he was looking down at my feet and he started laughing, he said,

¨Awoui, pose-voir tes grosses racquettes une minute, tu te rendras pas loin d´meme.¨

and I laughed too, but it was kind of annoying, and to top it off, I think my wallet must of fallen out in his car, because that morning was the last time I remember having it.
It was a chain wallet with a marijuana leaf on it, but the chain wasn´t attached and I guess it jumped out of my pocket.


Dad won´t drive me to town anymore, even if he´s going in to work, and I don´t want to go with him anyway: he pulled my toque off my head and threw it out the window last time.
When he finally let me out to go back for it, he took off.


Amanda´s mom works at the gas station by herself at night, she goes back and forth, waitressing and cooking in the restaurant, and ringing up people buying gas or pop in the store, on the other side.
When we hang out at the restaurant, Amanda usually goes in the back, to the kitchen. I don´t mind, because I don´t really talk to her much when there are other people around anyway.
Harry comes and helps Amanda´s mom close up at night- Amanda´s dad died in a car accident when she was little, and Harry´s been living with her and her mom for about a year now. He´s a janitor at the English school and he has a wooden pegleg. Sometimes when I call, he picks up the phone: he always sounds like he´s in a good mood.
One night, a chunky guy in trackpants started kicking and punching his girlfriend over by the pumps: Harry had the wooden pole in his hands, the one they use to see how much gas is left in the big tank. He hobbled across the parking lot fast, I saw him look down at the stick halfway, and drop it.
He tackled the guy down, and pinned his arms.
The girlfriend started yelling and trying to pull Harry´s hair, it´s a good thing he´s almost bald.

The guy said he´d kill everybody, and spat up into Harry´s face, but he couldn´t get up and finally the cops came and he stopped squirming.


After the police left, Harry drove us to the dance in Amanda´s mom´s car.
We cruised down Williams street and past Rotary Park, me Amanda and Michelle in the darkened back seat. Michelle was saying that if the guy had gotten the better of Harry, Michelle was right there and together they would have wrecked him. I said nothing and looked guiltily out the window.
In the park, somebody had built a pen.
The pen was strung with a few Christmas lights and had a cardboard santa on the side. There were three deer standing together behind the chicken wire and I wondered if they were cold.



I always call Amanda without a reason, we can talk for hours, or sometimes one of us plays a song and I lie on the floor drawing or looking at the cd case, or just listening. 
I listen to her listening.


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## bote (Dec 2, 2009)

I was thinking about this girl I knew back in New Brunswick, dans ma jeunesse, but she did move to Montreal a long time ago and I think she still lives there, so you never know, maybe you`ll see her around. If so, tell her to give me a call one of these days...


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## bote (Jan 1, 2010)

something I do a lot of in the graveyard is watch skateboard videos. This year there were a lot of good ones and good parts, there´s a pretty good annual top 10 list at 

http://boiltheocean.wordpress.com/

for whoever cares. but this one in particular I thought I´d post, even if it is from a Nike vid. 

Fucking Bad Brains ostie!





one thing about that boiltheocean list though, that Jake Johnson reedit is nowhere near as good as the Greg Hunt original:


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## hshh (Jan 3, 2010)

Grant taylors fucking good. A few years ago i went to woodward and he was in my cabin. he was only 16. his style has really changed.


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