Readers, for many reasons our way of life makes parking lots the only basis on which sexual exploration is permissible. While we do not here have the time nor space to inquire after the origins of this phenomenon, let us just say that parking lots (their lines, their contours, their boredom) connote the true zone of Canadian desire.

Did you ever feel that your mother was unsympathetic and cruel when she interrupted such adventures? Well, I always wanted to be the words “very late” and “imbroglio” and “pulsating pulsar”.

Eventually I learned to meditate, hum the hums of what had already passed me: the sounds of space.