Sitting side by side, we skip stones across the water. On the other side of the Saint Lawrence River is Montreal. I rarely get to go into the city, but come September, I’ll be in the city every day, at Dawson College. With my grades, I could have gotten into any program I wanted, but I chose literature, because I plan on getting a degree in English or communications or journalism.
Or something.
I want to write for a living. And I want to write important articles. Something underground. Counterculture. Anti-establishment. Maybe I’ll start my own magazine.
Alistair throws another stone and it skips across the water five times, creating ripple after ripple in the river. He’s good at everything. He doesn’t notice it though. I look over at his profile in the sun. “You still wanna be a priest
