Mostly film shots these days, many from a trip to the Northeast earlier this Fall. One of those great deadpan places, wealthy on paper with loads of new development underway, oil and gas industry, a kind of functional growth is good aesthetic, zero vacancy, but not a soul on the streets on a windy Sunday. Well, eight souls there were, that includes the two arresting a third while a fourth looks on. Later I hear the mayor of of one town say they don’t want to become another Fort Mac, then relates the story of how a starter job at Tim Horton’s pays $13 / hour, but even at that wage it’s hard to pay down rent that has near tripled in the last five, ten years. He’s glowing with pride.
Maybe there was some exaggeration there, I don’t know. Exaggeration befits the place.
My family lived in the region, briefly. I was, like one, maybe two years old. No recollection whatsoever, but somewhere there’s a blurry photo of me in a sled, face bawling red bundled up against the winter cold. Can’t find that now.
One town, gas station, a teen frothing at the mouth with hate, every possible variation of the word ‘fuck’ peppered into a tirade of revenge, something about a party, some dude ‘cost him his girlfriend’, now he’s going to cut him open belly to fuckin’ chin. At the pumps, short stocky couple in camoflauge to match their jeep, restocking on goods. Antlers protruding from pickup boxes. ‘Tis the season.
The irony of Tree Crusher Park… well, you gotta park somewhere, I guess.