Day 3
Allons Ons
We’re in the trenches now.
Take 2 Tums and then drink 2 black coffees and repeat.
How long can I drink anything but water? I don’t want to have to pull over a thousand times, but coffee doesn’t count.
Neither does giant beer.
La grosse 50.
A staple.
Get me to god’s country, I pined and pined and now I am here.
A tree divot smothered in cigarette butts.
A table sits directly in front of the stage, overflowing with Habs fans who would be nervous if they hadn’t enjoyed all of the above.
There is a large puddle in front of the bathroom door, and my shoes forget its existence over and over again.
What’s in the puddle?
What’s in the puddle?
We really weren’t sure how this one was going to go.
Not a lot of ticket sales, at all, really.
We are told that in order to ensure that people are still drinking at the bar, if we ask people if they’re here for the show and they say no, we should just let them in anyway. Sounds good.
So we give up on ticketing almost immediately and decide to just put a jug by the door.
It’s almost time to play.
There are maybe eighty people in this place, but it has been confirmed by us - and the jug - that they are not here for the show.
The Habs fans are still experiencing a nail-biter five feet from the stage. I really hope it goes well for them.
We’ve resigned to jamming to a room of uninterested non-on-lookers.
But thank god for god’s country.
“Je voudrais trois Grosse Cinquantes.” I hope that makes sense.
I drop them off on stage, and we are going to do this.
In between, I drop my left earplug in the mystery puddle.
Fuck it we ride, this is going to be weird, but that’s what it’s all about.
And then the music starts, and all the bad vibes go up in a puff of Quebecois smoke. Belmont or Pall Mall, maybe.
The Habs fans, after suffering an overtime loss, turn their heads in our direction, and all of a sudden, the tables in front of the stage are gone.
There are people here now, and they dig it.
This place is amazing and these people are amazing. My brother is here, and he stayed up all night playing NHL 22, but he’s still in the pit.
People throwing elbows crash into my microphone. The only empty beer bottle on stage falls over. I avoid dental work because Elliott is soloing.
It’s all good.
We end the night with a few more 50s with some friends we hadn’t seen in a long time.
We stay at my mom’s house, I eat an entire meal before bed, and sleep upright to avoid heartburn.
I love Montreal.
That’s all for now! See you tomorrow <3