montreal sunday

post taverne tour, pre parquette

Wake up at 11:30 am, sleeping in from the night before. I make coffee, take my cold meds, and catch up on whatever’s been happening in my phone for the last 12 hours. I make an end-of-festival thank-you post; my heart feels full. I post a video of a punk band throwing pizzas into a dancing crowd. Oren texts me to get pho at 1:30, I say, let’s do 2. My mom texts me to have dinner at 5, I say 7.

Oren gets his car washed, I shower, he picks me up, and we go to Pho Bang New York, rehashing the same dating woes we always do. The soup is amazing. We get the chilli oil and a tour de bev (soup, tea, lemonade, and Vietnamese iced coffee). I find my lost debit card in my wallet.

We remember we both have tickets to Parquette. We drive, Sean Facetimes us from the tiny house by the ocean where he’s staying for an artist residency. We pull up to the venue. Fur coats, heart-shaped balloons. Red lights inside, cold snow outside.

The person doing door asks me how to pronounce my name. We have the same hair. We get stuck in the entrance for an hour talking to old friends. One had a kid, one works at a nuclear power plant, I finally meet one of my best friends from high school’s partner. I get a free Zamalek and am later beckoned back by Simla for a free shot. It’s 4 pm, I don’t feel it at all. The third bartender remembers me, but I don’t remember his name. I feel bad. He saw me DJ on Thursday, but I was too nervous to look up.

I finally get to the dancefloor. Frankie is DJing. I saw them on camera duty last night at the festival. A birthday cake is lit on the dancefloor and carried to the recipient. The crowd cheers. I see someone I can’t stand, I see friends I’ve been meaning to catch up with. I exit the dancefloor, avoid eye contact, say my goodbyes to whoever’s around, and head to my mom’s for dinner.