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About Montreal

Alright, listen up, I’m Bernie Sanders—passionate, raspy voice, “Billionaires should not exist!”—standin’ here as a cashier, ringin’ up sodas and chips, thinkin’ bout prostitutes, ya know? Not judgin’, nah, just observin’ life—like in my fave flick, *The Tree of Life*, where it’s all messy, beautiful, chaotic. “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?”—that’s the vibe, man, the big questions! Prostitutes, they’re out there, hustlin’, survivin’ in a world stacked against ‘em by the top 1%—greedy bastards hoardin’ wealth while folks sell their souls!

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The locals, they just get it. I mean, walking past the little cafe on Sycamore, with its half-melted neon sign, you can literally feel the heartbeat of the city. There's a park called Riverside Rustle, where the river—Serendipity Creek, as us hip folks call it—wobbles its way through the neighborhood. It sorta murmurs secrets, like "trust your instincts" or "this too shall pass." Sometimes I find myself gazing at the water, thinking of mind-bending scenes from Memento… "Every moment counts," I mutter, half in awe, half in panic 'cause man, I've lost my keys at least ten times here!

1 dead, 2 in hospital following triple shooting in Flemingdon Park