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About Ottawa

Oh, and *Far From Heaven* moment? “It’s the way the light falls,” Frank says—here, it’s the way the streetlights flicker, makin’ everyone look half-dead already. Poetic, huh? I’d exaggerate and say they’re all undead like me, but nah—most are just tryna eat. Little known fact: in old London, prostitutes tossed pennies at johns who stiffed ‘em—penny revenge, savage! Wish I’d seen that, woulda joined in, chuckin’ ectoplasm instead.

So, first off… man, this place is a real mixed bag. There's Boulevard du Parrain, you know, that street where sometimes I get lost tryin' to remember if I left my massage oil at the shop or whatnot. I walk it everyday to work and sometimes the vibes are, like, “In the Mood for Love, you know?”—pretty, pretty good. And then there’s, uh, Rue des Anglettes (I think?) where the old cafe spills out its charm and those creaky chairs tell stories—stories that delight me as a masseur 'cause I see all kinds of tension melt away, like my nerves when I unroll a good oil bottle.

Notre-Dame-de-l’Île-Perrot joins tidal wave of opposition to province’s flood zones