A Highly Likely Story when fiction is stranger than real life by Sean Clancy February 14. Ride to UBC. Light shone through the basement windows and bleached everything a whiter shade of pale. This was enough to make me get out of bed and head to the kitchen, via the bathroom for a brief meditation session in the shower. | had my three cups of freshly ground rocket fuel, and headed out the door in my wool pants, struttin' to the sound of someone else's drum machine as | mounted up and headed out onto the now almost dry avenue. Sunshine in February is about as common as free parking in Vancouver. The delicious sounds of DJ Max Thrust were just loud enough to hear and low enough not to carry me away into my own little world and into a lightpost. | headed west with the sun behind me and two wheels in motion. | was cold, although | soon reached SakP. My brain received a fax from my stomach at around 2:30 telling me it needed to be massaged from the inside with a B.C. roll. | lamented, and caught a glimpse of the North Shore mountains while sitting cross- legged on the same drab concrete that was separated from the road by a six inch lip. The view was better from this side of the water. There was a lot of snow on the mountains, although all | could remember was rain. It's amazing how three or four degrees make such a differ- ence in one's attitude towards the weather, and life in general. Rain was noisy when you drove over it, snow made that wonderful crunching sound. Snow reflected light, rain absorbed it and any light it was courteous enough to dispense was fractured and distorted. | wanted a picture of those mountains, but. | was already on my bike and rolling again as | realized that | had just come down from my best vantage point. | headed north towards the water. | came upon a cul-de- sac and careened towards its culmination. | was trans- fixed by the heavy patches of snow that collected in the ravines on the mountains, so much so that | didn't notice that there were two people in the car in front of me pass- ing a joint to and fro. The guardrail that surrounded the cul-de-sac had "No Parking" written on it. If | had a jiffy marker it would now have read "TechNo Parking". There were numerous rusted bulk-cargo container ships waiting to unload their wares in the harbour. A girl walked by me and sat down on a bench. She had auburn hair in a neat bun punctuated by chop- sticks. She was with her cat. It was looking over her shoulder at me. It wasn't on a leash. She was wearing indigo denim and a high-necked red wool sweater with two narrow blue and yellow stripes down the arm. Yes. | rode up to take a closer look at the signboard that told about the maritime tradition of the city and the number of wrecks off the coast. | asked her if she always took her cat for walks like this. Her roommate had a friend visiting who had a dog, and the two were mutually incompat- able. Yes. | asked if | could take her picture. Yes. | said | @- Photographs by Sean Clan My brain received a fax from my stomach at around 2:30 telling me it needed to be massaged from the inside with a B.C. roll. liked cats and she could come and hang at my place for a while. | told her that my dog was feline-friendly and that | had coke at home. Yes. | didn't say it was in a can, and she didn't ask. Yes. | walked my bike home and she put down the cat and let it walk beside her. | set the dinner table for four: me, Janell (her name), Max (her cat), and Rommel, my mixed breed. We drank beer. | let Rommel have a pint. The 50lb Rommel would now fail a roadside. Both four-legged animals were well-behaved, albeit speedy, dinner guests. Max wafted away to dreamland on his pillow and | drank Rommel under the table as | always do: it doesn't take much. Rommel is my best driving/fishing/hiking buddy, even if he is a little short on the conversation. When | gaze into Rommel's eyes and bark a few words in dog language, he never answers back. | have taught him how to speak, but his comprehension of the language is still lacking. Anyhow, he was four-paws-in-the-air, snarling, and snif- fling, probably somewhere in mid-dream sequence of a duck hunt, swimming out for downed game. I've noticed that ever since | got my “Ducks Unlimited" tea towels last Christmas, Rommel has assumed I'm going to take him duckhunting. Dogs just don't understand that their masters might be hypocritical, pacifist types who don't grasp that a duck shot in the wild will have lead a better life than a chicken in a coop. | read a story once about a teacher in Japan who questioned her pupils about where pork came from. They told her that it came from a gro- cery store. The teacher took the children to a slaughter- house and was fired from her job. | took Janell to my bedroom and forgot about Japanese teachers. My finger was caught underneath the elastic waistband of her underwear (I hate the word "panties") as it moved south towards the sunbelt. My other hand was caressing her slightly sloping left breast; her nipple of which resembled the eraser attached to a primary school pencil. Our shirts had been discarded an hour ago, and we were under the covers in our pants. My finger was at hair level now, and she was working to remove my belt. | took her hand in mine and had her undo her own jeans. | peeled back the covers and placed myself in an upright position between her legs. Clutching her jeans at the sides of her waist, | eased them down over her hips. while she snaked from side to side to help me. | noticed that she had a “Norton" belt buckle attached to her weathered black belt. | left her black thong on. It was emblazoned with Hello Kitties. | started to kiss the inside of her thigh, moving north, transferring to the other thigh just before | reached the delta of her splayed legs. She hummed as _ she spread open her fingers and ran them through my hair. She cupped her hands over the back of my skull and moved my head up into the fork of her legs. After | had removed the last trace of her clothing, she wrapped her legs around me. A Highly Likely Story when fiction is stranger than real life by Sean Clancy February 14. Ride to UBC. Light shone through the basement windows and bleached everything a whiter shade of pale. This was enough to make me get out of bed and head to the kitchen, via the bathroom for a brief meditation session in the shower. had my three cups of freshly ground rocket fuel, and headed out the door in my wool pants, struttin’ to the sound of someone else's drum machine as | mounted up and headed out onto the now almost dry avenue. Sunshine in February is about as common as free parking in Vancouver. The delicious sounds of DJ Max Thrust were just loud enough to hear and low enough not to carry me away into my own little world and into a lightpost. | headed west with the sun behind me and two wheels in motion. | was cold, although | soon reached STP. My brain received a fax from my stomach at around 2:30 telling me it needed to be massaged from the inside with a B.C. roll. | lamented, and caught a slimpse of the North Shore mountains while sitting cross- legged on the same drab concrete that was separated from the road by a six inch lip. The view was better from this side of the water. There was a lot of snow on the mountains, although all | could remember was rain. It's amazing how three or four degrees make such a differ- ence in one's attitude towards the weather, and life in general. Rain was noisy when you drove over it, snow made that wonderful crunching sound. Snow reflected light, rain absorbed it and any light it was courteous enough to dispense was fractured and distorted. | wanted a picture of those mountains, but 1 was already on my bike and rolling again as | realized that I had just come down from my best vantage point. | headed north towards the water. | came upon a cul-de- sac and careened towards its culmination. | was trans- fixed by the heavy patches of snow that collected in the ravines on the mountains, so much so that I didn't notice that there were two people in the car in front of me pass- ing a joint to and fro. The guardrail that surrounded the cul-de-sac had "No Parking" written on it. if I had a jiffy marker it would now have read "TechNo Parking”. There ‘Were numerous rusted bulk-cargo container ships waiting to unload their wares in the harbour. ‘A girl walked by me and sat down on a bench. She had auburn hair in a neat bun punctuated by chop- sticks. She was with her cat. It was looking over her shoulder at me. It wasn't on a leash. She was wearing indigo denim and a high-necked red wool sweater with two narrow blue and yellow stripes down the arm. Yes. | rode up to take a closer look at the signboard that told about the maritime tradition of the city and the number of wrecks off the coast. | asked her if she always took her cat for walks like this. Her roommate had a friend visiting who had a dog, and the two were mutually incompat- able. Yes. | asked if | could take her picture. Yes. | said | @4 My brain received a fax from my stomach at around 2:30 telling me it needed to be massaged from the inside with a B.C. roll. liked cats and she could come and hang at my place for a while. | told her that my dog was feline-friendly and that | had coke at home. Yes. | didn't say it was in a can, and she didn't ask. Yes. | walked my bike home and she put down the cat and let it walk beside her. | set the dinner table for four: me, Janell (her name), Max (her cat), and Rommel, my mixed breed. We drank beer. | let Rommel have a pint. The 50lb Rommel would now fail a roadside. Both four-legged animals were well-behaved, albeit speedy, dinner guests. Max wafted away to dreamland on his pillow and | drank Rommel under the table as | always do: it doesn't take much. Rommel is my best driving/fishing/hiking buddy, even if he is a little short on the conversation. When | gaze into Rommel's eyes and bark a few words in dog language, he never answers back. | have taught him how to speak, but his comprehension of the language is still lacking ‘Anyhow, he was four-paws-in-the-air, snarling, and snif- fling, probably somewhere in mid-dream sequence of a duck hunt, swimming out for downed game. I've noticed that ever since | got my "Ducks Unlimited" tea towels last Christmas, Rommel has assumed I'm going to take him duckhunting. Dogs just don't understand that their masters might be hypocritical, pacifist types who don't grasp that a duck shot in the wild will have lead a better life than a chicken in a coop. | read a story once about a teacher in Japan who questioned her pupils about where pork came from. They told her that it came from a gro- cery store. The teacher took the children to a slaughter- house and was fired from her job. \ took Janell to my bedroom and forgot about Japanese teachers. My finger was caught underneath the elastic waistband of her underwear (I hate the word panties") as it moved south towards the sunbelt. My other hand was caressing her slightly sloping left breast; her nipple of which resembled the eraser attached to a primary school pencil. Our shirts had been discarded an hour ago, and we were under the covers in our pants. My finger was at hair level now, and she was working to remove my belt. | took her hand in mine and had her undo her own jeans. | peeled back the covers and placed ‘myself in an upright position between her legs. Clutching her jeans at the sides of her waist, | eased them down over her hips while she snaked from side to side to help me. | noticed that she had a "Norton" belt buckle attached to her weathered black belt. I left her black thong on. It was emblazoned with Hello Kitties. | started to kiss the inside of her thigh, moving north, transferring to the other thigh just before | reached the delta of her splayed legs. She hummed as she spread open her fingers and ran them through my hair. She cupped her hands over the back of my skull and moved my head up into the fork of her legs. After | had removed the last trace of her clothing, she wrapped her legs around me.