NEW! Openned Poetry Series Reviewed!
In a mildly smoky and dank cellar below Old Street`s, The Foundy, a cluster of uni-scenesters congregate on a night that is humid and expectant. At the front, well-lit and theatrically draped in black fabric, a poet announces, (rough translation) " a Canadian cannot find his ass with both hands." A vibe of coolness and contented smiles are shared between cigarettes and sips of water. The poet (looking like a cross between the Brazilian footballer Leonardo and a young, ragged Peter Fonda) adds, "allowing to a shortage of cocaine I turned my back on public life."
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