The second largest French speaking city in the world;
Good news for a one born in Argentina with a Slavic father, a Russian girlfriend, likes to eat in Little Italy, and is called Kid Denver by associates with warped senses of humor.
Thank God for the language of the world, a womb of freedom, a worm hole to other times, places, and minds who all speak the same unspoken language, symphonique.
Canals, studio apartments, cycling, acoustic weekend trips to Toronto, Cleveland, Detroit, Chicago; an undercurrent of bluesy rock riffs to satisfy cravings to stray from tuxedos to whisky stained jeans.
Cold, windy winters that forced the discovery of the Gulf of Mexico, but Notre Dame de Grace beckons a call back each time; every time.
Why stay when you speak the language of the world? The city has a voice, unique like no other; a song that plays nice in the ear, and is far away north, far, far away north, from the haunting howl of Cape Horn, hidden away in the land of ice and snow and shorter days.