After the club

Back-in-the-day, after getting fucked-up and having fun at the club, we used to meet at a diner, called, Markham Station. This diner was just around the corner from Karisma barbershop and McDonald's. Man, I loved that joint!

For my friends, and I, it was our way of satiating inebriation with pancakes, home fries and eggs... scrambled. My girl would always get fries and gravy. And for me, of course, I was thinking, that night, I would get the all-day special, maybe.

Naturally, we'd share stories about our epic night and how shit got kind of crazy. I miss how things were, back then. We were young, dumb as fuck, and sometimes a little lazy. But, we loved life, hanging out and seizing the moment, baby!

Sitting in that 80's style, red, pleather booth with the blue, plaid parquet floor. Yeah, they don't make them like that anymore. The cooks, in the back, in the grease-stained white apron and the flimsy hairnet, cursing at each other, in their language, as they made comments about my 'phat ass', as I passed.

Bacon scented, coffee grounds, flavoured the air. And, most times, while we waited for our food, we would be out, in the parking lot, dropping 'shrooms', and smoking herb, passing the j, to the occassional random dude. We'd be cracking jokes laughing our asses off, being loud, trying not to be rude.

We were never worried about classes on Monday, nor today or tomorrow.

We'd never relish over drama and we'd never worry about our sorrows.

Nowadays, no one's cracking jokes, or trying to get home, before 5 AM, so you weren't killed, for being out late, by your folks.

Nobody's in Markham station. There are signs on the door, saying "CLOSED FOR GOOD..." or some saying, "You have to wear a mask before entering."

Nowadays, everybody's worried. No one's talking about epic shit.

No one can afford the all-day special or the convo that comes with it.

No one's having conversation... unless there are at least 2, or so, feet between it.