Electric Lake

Richard’s vehicle died before dawn on a Sunday morning in December on Highway 3 near Christina Lake. Pulled over on the shoulder of the road, just past the Chevron that had been there since he was a child, Richard was struggling to maneuver his aging bulging frame within the confines of his needing to be charged dead car.  His winter boots, bought specifically for this Christmas getaway were located behind the passenger seat, while his mittens and toque were behind the driver seat.  Upon locating and adorning his winter clothing, Richard wondered what he should do next.



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Disconnection Failed

When I awoke on the morning of October 5, 2038, I was in the third week of my planned withdrawal from the Internet. The withdrawal was still inchoate, yet it kept progressing: there were actually very few roadblocks. I called Amazon and cancelled all Smart connections to my condo. I will say this for Amazon they, sure take care of everything. They contacted all of my service providers and cancelled those things I didn’t need. The conversation explaining what I didn’t need was a slightly awkward. I feared coming out and telling the representative the full-scale of my plan, so some obfuscation of the truth was necessary. Continue reading

Spring In Vancouver


“I know, let’s get some garlic sausage for dinner,” Shane O said “it’s on sale at Safeway for a buck fifty.”

“Sounds good,” was D’s reply.   They had been skating a bit in the early afternoon at the art gallery, and started drinking around three. The problem was, as always, money. Neither Shane O nor D could really afford to spend more than thirty dollars for the whole night. The beer they were drinking already cost each a little over ten dollars they still had a long ways to go if they were going to make it to the Palladium. Continue reading

A Thank You To Bukowski


The Master

My dream to become a writer began in 1995 when Transworld Skateboarding ran a couple of interviews with professional skateboarders who praised Charles Bukowski (maybe Marc Johnson and/or Ethan Fowler interviewed by Atiba Jefferson?) .  I was 17 and would have done anything Transworld told me to, so the first chance I got I bought a Bukowski book – Septuagenarian Stew. Continue reading

Selling Vancouver Sun Subscriptions: The Upper-Middle Class Kitchen

The closest I’ve ever come to working in a sweatshop is when I worked for the Vancouver Sun.  Okay, I never technically worked for the Vancouver Sun, I worked for one of their subcontractors.  And, if we are being honest here I didn’t work for them very long, give or take two hours.  But, with those caveats in mind, let me tell you about how brutal that shit was (is?) Continue reading



The cop told my dad not to press charges or the person who tried to kill him would come back for him.  This was 2002 and my dad believed the cop, thought it was good advice actually.  Figured the guy who cut him off  on Royal Ave only to follow him home and viciously assault him was probably dangerous like the cop said. Continue reading