I met her at Fish & Chips - the fish and chips food truck down at Ford Cove.
A super cool woman.
I'd specifically go down to the Cove to chat with her –
but mainly off-season.
Because the tourists were too much for me.
She also worked stocking shelves and doing cash at the corner store.
I thought that she was psychic.
So, I sniffed around when I was with her.
And she was.
Folks would come into the Cove and have her choose their
Lotto tickets.
They'd line up sometimes six or seven deep.
I watched them.
Customer after customer came in with winning tickets.
Myself included.
She picked the Set for Life tickets for me.
I started with winning free plays, then cash.
Each win increased with each ticket.
My lucky streak broke when I went against my intuition
that she was psychic
and got my ticket from another gal.
I haven't won since - and it's been three years.
Cove Store under reno '21
We were both at the Nirvana concert at the PNE Forum in '94.
She was at the front - against the stage and ended up passing out.
While she was out, she saw seven white horses.
That's when I knew I was dead.
She had very cool style.
We'd talk music, vintage, and jerkoff dudes.
The eras we'd like to put together,
the cut of the women's silky nylon 70s blouses,
vintage Lees
and why the 90s does 70s worked so well.
She loved shopping at thrift stores.
Her Dad owned a clothing boutique in Kerrisdale - similar to Hills.
igneous rock outcroppings at Ford Cove
No kids.
We lived in Whistler at the same time.
1990-92.
She worked at The Boot pub.
Our paths most certainly crossed at some point.
I was probably drunk and told her I liked her outfit or something.
Shoulder-length blond hair –
I like to keep it like Kurt's.
She's edgier than her twin sister.
A tough cookie.
I never used to be like this.
Old drunk dudes hit on her, and she's had enough.
I'm tired of being nice.
- I can relate -
The Cove
She found a dead sea lion with a perfect hide
down at Sandpiper Beach.
I wanted the hide for a rug.
So she decided to skin it.
When she was scoping out the situation,
an old dude came over and told her he'd found it first.
You're a woman. You don't have the means to skin it.
They argued.
He laughed in her face.
Go ahead and skin it, then.
She got her knives and started.
The old dude sat on a log,
watched
and mocked.
It took hours.
She said around the third or fourth hour,
she'd become so angry at the old dude
disrupting
what was supposed to be
a cathartic ritual
that
she lost focus,
sliced too hard,
and tore through the hide.
She kept skinning, and the old dude kept mocking.
You're doing it wrong.
By the end of the day, she had the hide.
I didn't think you had it in you.
She told me that whenever she looks at that
tear in the sea lion's hide,
hatred boils inside her,
and she takes it out on all men.
