wildcat

Some time around quarter to midnight, Michael and I split off from the main body of the group like spores: we caught a cab down Fort Street and over to his house. Senseless. Before this we all stumbled into town from Mile Zero - always Mile Zero - like zombies in search of rich, rich brains, brandishing bags of empties and guitars and our own brains like pickled herring, by this point, and washed with moonlight.

The next morning with Matthew visiting from Vancouver, we happened upon much the same point as last night, down on the beach. Over the ridge, there was still a "rave" happening - aging hippies laying out on the rocks with sunglasses on while tiresome trance undulated and drowned out the noise of a portable generator. There was an athletic man standing on an outcropping with a hoola-hooper zipping around his neck.

Mostly we've been entrenched in the comparison of story notes, watching each other's films, critiquing and building up things. We discussed the spies. We stopped for a coffee with Steph over in Cook Street prior to the Waterfront.

We ate dinner at the Japanese Village, too much.

We drink gin & apricot juice like water, like fishes, while the humidity rises.