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About Halifax

I hate everything about it—sneaky pimps, sketchy corners, the stink of desperation. Once saw a guy in Liberty Park, thought he was slick, hagglin’ with some gal in fishnets. Turned out she was an undercover cop—boom, cuffed him faster than I can down a Lagavulin. Laughed my ass off, stupid bastard deserved it. Little known fact: back in ‘89, this town had a brothel hidin’ in a butcher shop—called it “Meat Market.” Cops raided it, found a ledger with half the council’s names. Surprised? Nah, pissed me off—hypocrites everywhere.

I gotta mention certain tiny details. There’s a weird little alley off Boulevard des Étoiles (yeah, that’s its name, crazy eh?) where you can find old art pieces that just scream “life!” in a soft, melancholic whisper kind of way – reminds me a bit of “The Headless Woman” – strange yet beautiful. Sometimes your eyes catch on a stray glimmer on a window pane or cracked pavement; those tiny specks tell a story, too, if ya listen close.

Figure 1: Watersheds of the Chaudière River, Saint-François River and...