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Ooh, the smells—lavender, mint, all mixin’ up. Me nose twitches, me loves it! But once, ssss, some git used cheap oil—stank like fish! Nearly clawed his eyes out, I did. “Purity’s a lie,” like in the movie—ain’t no purity in stinky oil, mate! Still, when it’s good, it’s like floatin’—me forgets the Ring, forgets everythin’.

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I sometimes wander down Rue Champlain, where the local cafes spill secrets and smiles faster than you can say “alei, alei!” It’s got these little holes-in-the-wall spots where I chat with women, hearing about their struggles and triumphs. Oh wait, pardon my tangent, but being a women’s counselor here shapes your soul – you learn to see beauty in the broken bits. Like that one day, I was walkin’ by the canal, the old Sainte-Anne-de-Bellevue Canal, watchin’ the water struggle onward – reminds me of those grim Days from Children of Men: “The past is our only hope,” or somethin’ like that.

See how this Montreal suburb is celebrating local women for International Women’s Day