The Montreal Years!

The last time we saw each other, we were eating tapas topless. June--Madison starting to heat up. It was the culmination of the potlucks and dance parties and general absurdity that had taken place during a scholastic year in which we were supposed to be maturing. Julia left the next day; I got Mono; Zoe ran off to a geriatric sweatshop baking pies. Separation didn't seem to serve us well.

Yesterday, a half year later, I found myself surrounded by two of my favorite friends. I meet up with Zoe, the Olympic Stadium tower framing our reunion. Snap a black and white photo, and you could sell that image for twenty-five cents at any major tourist joint in the city! We prance down Ontario street and end up in Cafe Clo, where she orders the pâté chinoise (a disturbing mound of cow fat and potato), and I the tourtière (cabbage and meat in a crust that tasted, according to Zoe, like a Christmas cookie). Claudette, our crotchety waitress, seemed mildly annoyed by our inability to understand her Quebecois accent, and she transfers us to another waitress. The meal concludes, like another I've had recently, with Jell-O as a dessert option (Jell-O as an option! Times two!). Oh, North America!

Meeting Julia later in a sleazy bus station restaurant, we move on to a more ambient cafe and catch up, this time with all our clothes intact. We order a French beer celebrating Alsace's revolutionary history of separation from France, then Germany. Political consolidation never tasted so good! So here I am, with a foot of snow on my doorstep, and some good friends around the corner. I can't wait to take this town by storm!