The Call After the city's Canada Day fireworks finished, my roommate and I had a few more drinks before heading out with the rest of our party. We had no intentions of actually going into any bars because of how predictably flooded Whyte Ave would be. There were people shoulder to shoulder everywhere, hooting, hollering, drunk, disorderly. It was quite noisy. The previous year was when the riot had taken place so police presence was significantly increased, and I think the EPS must have subcontracted all the former bullies and knuckleheads, because there were definitely some in uniform that night.

I had become separated from the rest of my group and was being ushered in the wrong direction by a twit with a badge and a gun. He wouldn't listen to me telling him that I lived in the other direction, so I eluded him by going down a quiet side street. On this quiet side street, I was finally able to hear my cell phone ringing. I didn't recognize the number. I answered it.

It was her; the woman that I'd been pursuing for months without success. We went back to my apartment and sat on the balcony, staring off into the distance where the fireworks had been. We talked for a long time while I held her, keeping her warm from the dark July chill. When we kissed that night, there was an energy that carried us into the future, where we waited together for nearly two years until the present could catch up to us.  ¶ 7:10 AM