seaweed & solomon gundy: the glossary

places and things and other flotsam significant to

the origin of writing, pirates and maggot sandwiches

halifax

When you grow up in Halifax, you grow up knowing what 200-year-old gunpowder smells like.

You poke at beached jellyfish by the half-buried shipwreck on McNab’s Island, in the shadow of where they used to hang pirates at the harbour gate. Your school’s hot dog picnics are at the crumbling, overgrown ruins of British garrisons, where you scramble atop cannons asleep in the grass and rummage in their yawning mouths for stray grapeshot.

To grow up in Halifax is to have as much hooliganism in your blood as salt.

the real grampa joe >