A phone goes off with a cheery ringer, in the middle of an embryology lecture. Prof turns around with a smile, "better pick that up, could be your dealer!"
Being an older citizen, he must've had an acid lapse and reminisced back on the 60's when he would drive up clad in leather on his bike, up to the intersection of Huron and Bloor: the drug haven of the north (before they were shut down, dragged out, beaten dead into a petrified stone edifice, only for Uxbridge to become the heir to their throne). Yes thats right, thanks to a good linkster provided by an avid reader of this blog, I've been made aware of the dark history that surrounds my neighbourhood and the University.
With a little research I found out that Burroughs wrote the script to a Junky's Christmas, right here. In fact, his dealer was a grad student in the Dept. of Anatomy! It all comes together.
Two days from now, they're going to paint a new building-length advertisement along the side of the rochdale project, now named after a dead senator, who was in cahoots with the drug trade and was integral in committing canadians to a north atlantic treaty of infamy.
I'm not a fan of this new Lily Allen record. I need a new teapot! Damnit.
1 comment:
Hell's Angels had a large presence on the scene. Hunter S. once rode with the sordid Angels to this Canadian intersection and spat his gum at the senator and prophesied of the day that his continentalist name would ironically be plastered over by a Roots advertisement.
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