Chapter 12 | Write and Drink

A guy with long rocker-type hair, a muscle shirt (but he isn’t muscular) and a big camper back-pack shows up. To everyone, in a Quebec accent, he says, “Hello, I am Jean-Sebastien, but you can call me JS. I’m not a dragonboater, but I’m a friendly traveller. May I join your fire?”

And of course he’s welcome in this circle of friendlies. He sits down beside me. “Hello Mr. Writer, you work all day while everyone else plays.” I pick up the bottle, take a swig, then pass it to him.

“Ah, you write and drink, so it’s not work, it’s art.”

“I like that line, I’m going to put that down.”