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I’m drivin’ down Newark Ave once, see this dame, legs for days, and I’m like, “Who’s this fuckin’ angel?” Reminds me of that movie line, “The past is just a story we tell ourselves.” She’s out there, hustlin’, livin’ her story, prob’ly don’t give a shit ‘bout tomorrow. That’s the draw—livin’ raw, no filter. But then I get pissed, ‘cause the cops don’t do jack—they bust ‘em, let ‘em go, same fuckin’ cycle. Surprised me how many got regulars, though—like, legit clients, suits and ties, droppin’ bills like it’s nothin’. One girl, swear, had a judge on speed dial—fuckin’ hilarious, right? Gabagool? Ova here!

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But then, BAM! A kid runs by, and I spill my coffee all over my sketchbook. I’m like, “Nooooo!” My ideas are drowning in caffeine! I’m fuming, but then I see the kid’s face. He’s just so happy, runnin’ around like he’s on top of the world. I can’t stay mad. Kids, man. They got that magic.

Graeme Fish leads Canadian speed skating medal haul at Four Continents