Friend arrives oblivious to the corn stuck in your teeth and your greasy, unwashed hair. She doesn't care about the spots on your dress or the fact that you have dark lines under your eyes and you aren't wearing any make-up.
Friend brings two McDonald's cups filled with ice. She also brings two Growers Strawberry Rhubarb Ciders which are popped open and poured slyly into the cups. You raise your wax coated cups to each other and toast the night, then pop on the lids and slide in the straws.
Cups in hand, we drive down to St. Boniface and walk along the sidewalk and through the cemetery talking over the noise of jackhammers and construction crews in hope of finding a bench with a view. We find a bench. It's looking at an empty spray pad. It's also home to a million mosquito's.
We need to find a bathroom. Since we parked across from the hospital we walk across Tache' and find one just off the entrance. The entrance is full of couches and chairs and empty spots to sit awhile, free of mosquitoes.
And so we sit.
In a hospital.
We kick off our sandals and pull up our feet and tuck them underneath us.
We throw our heads back and laugh while our stories trickle out and into each other.
Truth-telling and confession.
Exposition and unraveling.
All on vinyl covered chairs.
Sometimes that is just the kind of night you need.
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