This is a letter I wrote but never sent. Typical. I always write letters to my friend when he’s off canoeing in northern Manitoba. I always have the best intentions of sending them, and then I never do. Here’s one I wrote to this friend a couple years ago. It’s kind of nice to have letters you never sent, even if writing letters you are never plan on sending is a somewhat strange form of self preservation.
For the past month I have been living a pretty lazy life, commuting from Winnipeg to Matlock whenever I feel inspired and reading too many books at the same time. When I left Winnipeg in early May everything was exciting and unknown. In two weeks time Pat drove to Dawson, we found jobs, and then he worked worked worked all the time. The sun never went down and I felt crazy. I stayed out all night and slept all day. I worked for a crazy Greek man who yelled all the time. He smoked two packs of cigarettes a day, worked like a dog (thats what he would say anyways – and it was true), and went to the casino every night. Dino. My interview went like this:
Dino – Where are you from?
Me – Winnipeg
Dino – No. Where are you from?
Me – Winnipeg
Dino – I fucking asked you where are you from!?
Me – West Broadway ….. but I grew up in Wolseley.
Dino – Don’t you ever fucking lie to me. I’m from Winnipeg.
He offers me a cigarette. I take it. We stand outside smoking in silence for a few minutes.
Me – So do I have a job?
Dino – Come in tomorrow at four. Leah will train you.
Then he walked inside, I came back the next day at four, then I worked for him almost everyday for the next three weeks before I decided to leave Dawson. On a side note I kinda think I was working for Greek Mafia Men running away from stuff in their hometowns to run restaurants way way way up north. When I would go to the back to smoke or bring them beer they all called me darling and then went back to speaking Greek, or almost unintelligible English.
I think they were up to something.