Saturday, April 4, 2009

At best second place

When I walked to school and saw a car cruising downtown Montreal's main drag with it's muffler hanging so low it scraped the street and left a trail of sparks, I thought I had a pretty solid story. It had everything: sparks (which is almost fire), a loud consistent noise and people unaware at the massive amounts of attention they are drawing to themselves.

Then I told Brittney.

Brittney grew up on a farm in Alberta: hours north of everything you hold dear and filled with the kind of stereotypes that would make a drunk rowdy Irishman sue me for defamation of character.

When I was done explaining what an awe inspiring sight I had beheld that day, Brittney nonchalantly riposted with a little gem about a semi truck. The anger you hear in the audio is a man whose believed himself to be at a great height, only to have the clouds part and realize that his own peak is no where near the top.

(I apologize for the scratchiness at some points. I suggest you turn your sound down a bit. Also for my terrible radio voice. Let's pretend I have a speach impediment.)