Summer in Alberta

Another short piece. Wrote this during a summer exile to Alberta. I grew up in Alberta, and if you collected all the empty bottles of beer from my time there, you could build quite the fucking structure. Still, I love the place in the warmer months.


It was summer in Alberta, and there was rock n’ roll in the hills. The fields were green and the sky was clear and brilliant. There was a vibe in the air that you could do anything you wanted, drink anything you wanted, and smoke anything you wanted. You were invincible out there in that summer heat. You were armored and protected with every KISS song you heard come crackling out radio speakers. It was a time to be young and crazy, and if you couldn’t pull off either of those, chances are nobody cared enough to notice. You tried instead to turn every second into a legendary event, every sip of every cup of coffee into a drink from a sacred chalice.

You had to think like that, had to live like that. Because no matter how hard you tried to forget it, winter was always around the corner, ready to fuck everything up.

But you didn’t think about that. Didn’t waste the brain power on it. Instead you just kept on trucking, a solider of summer, trying in vain to have one hell of a tour of duty.

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