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About Halifax

Last week, some git in cellblock C bragged he got one—said it “freed his soul.” Bollocks! Freed his wallet, more like—cost him a pack of smokes to bribe the guard. Made me proper mad—why ain’t *I* gettin’ that deal? But then, I’m thinkin’, “Loki, you’re above this,”—burdened with glorious purpose, not grovelin’ for a rubdown. Still, I was chuffed hearin’ it—imaginin’ him squirming, all awkward. “You think you’re in charge?” I’d say, like in *Toni Erdmann*, watchin’ him melt under some lass’s thumbs.

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Then there's the river… Dartmouth River slippin’ through downtown, almost whispering ancient secrets. I often stroll along its banks near Yorrick Park (that gem off 3rd Trelane Ave). Its winding paths keep me guessing like a fabled riddle. Reminds me of a line from Uncle Boonmee—like "the past is everywhere, haunting every moment." Crazy, huh? Its beauty even makes this cynical heart skip a beat. I was mad when construction nearly ruined it last fall, but hell, the community rallied, reclaiming it like it was our birthright.

Letter from the Editor: Getting Arrested a Year Ago