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After We we're Hipped

The night had been long, but joyus. Too much weed, liquer and cocain had fuled us into an unimaginable fury of rocketeering spasms and the like. I had chewed my friends ear off for giving me bad directions and little respect, and by the time my brother and I set off from wtaerloo to Toronto, hoping to sleep a spell before work, I was in almost in a sore place. The show had been amazing, Worker Huxly opened with a crash and the Hip brought it home with a thunderus roar. Over the course of four or five hours a farmers field had turned into a fairground of joy, possibility, and love. It had been amazing. But the drugs were gone, and so was the adrenaline, and all that was left was the vast, cold, and desolet 401 highway. My brother had crashed and left me with the task of bringing us home safe in our 89 LeBaron. I was drifting, nodding off from time to time, and making no quams about the fact that my cigarette was the only thing keeping me awake. When in the distance a large bus with a tow-behind entered my view. I shook my brother awake and said

Submitted by: Cameron Switzer


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