Moncton

Moncton New Brunswick, right at the edge of the ocean. Quaint and full of snow and small pointy topped houses. There is as much French as English. People gather in hoards in darkly lit holes in the wall join in laughter and music and hide from the overcast sky.

The sun hasn’t shown its face in three days. It is overcast, drab, damp, and cold. The people drink alcohol like they drink coffee- and they don’t stop. There is no sign of wealth. No big or fancy houses. Just old rusty cars parked by little old side board houses and lots of white people in boots. Always boots. Boots everywhere. Boots because there is snow or slush or both all the time. Even the old ladies wear boots. Sometimes nice leather boots, other times old rubber boots. but always boots.

The tree are all different colors and look as poor as the people. Short and broken and haggard.

This is the east coast. Full of rain and underbrush and strong accents. But mostly just gray days.