Dear Halifax,
You are the most luxurious locale I’ve ever slid into in the summer. I yearn for your warm sunny-folk bosom; I dream about your lakes and walks and talks and propeller-impregnated preponderant pondering on the Citadel. Prancing folk and stoop-sit smokes, and the North End forever, eternally.
And mmmmm, those backyard restaurant shin-digs with home brews and home bros and sisters!
Your economy might suck for people who aren’t in the trades, but since when was a love affair ever economical?
Moving to Alberta was super lame of me. BUT, as we all know well, one can never truly leave Halifax. I look forward to the day I once again bask in your seasonal glory! Please forgive me for ever doubting you.
The most love possible. —That Short-Sighted Gal Who Left You For Jobs
This article appears in Jun 28 – Jul 4, 2012.
it be otay, sometimes you gotta go where the coin is
fuck quebec…
my Canada doesn’t include Alberta.
burn bitch.
barf. all that romanticized hipster shit you’re talking about makes me sick. stay wherever the fuck you are.