A Night in Kingston

Then there was the time he drove to Kingston
in a little rentacar, past that factory made
of plasticene, getting used to off ramps,
the traffic thinning. They could not find
the classroom, and, when hunted down,
they're in the room next to the bagpiper.
He decides to read filthy bits. And later
a new dog sleeps as they smoke and pass a
guitar around, a guitar with a strip of
paper taped to its side, with seven hundred
songs on it. He has a good voice, this one,
the owner of the dog. The bed is on the floor
and it feels like a Japanese room, something
about the glow of the walls in the dark.
Theyre nice people arent they.
Yes theyre nice.
Warm.
Their wedding photo is lovely.
His slacks.
Could you live in a place like this?
A place like Kingston?
Yes, in a house like this.
The house is rich and old. It has a
piano and a surprising room between
the kitchen and the front room.
I've never thought of living in
smaller Canadian cities. Except St.
John's.
I know, that's why I'm asking you.
I'll think about it.