I could scratch at the skin of my city. I could drill a glass eye into those stones until they bled sunlight and colour back into the world. We can do that you know, we can reveal what's hidden and waiting beneath the surface; waiting for long legs in flower dresses, for sleeveless men flexing down Ste-Catherine, prancing like divas hot and on the prowl. We can bring our chase into the darkness and set it all on fire with a quick turn of a single dial.
We can do anything.
Or do nothing.
Welcome to February — Inglorious and stillborn.