Whyte Ave looks a lot different than it
did fifteen years ago when
We drank bottles of cheap red wine
behind Wunderbar and Filthy’s
Power Hour kept a guy going with the
last twenty dollars in his pocket.
I think about eating cheap po’boys at
DaDeO’s, pitchers of chili lager,
on the Monday deal with my friends
on their nights off.
Followed by pints of warm
Grasshopper at the Dog, bartop lemon
Floating down like all those people
who didn’t make it through and
All the relationships that faded away
to Montreal, Toronto, Vancouver,
Suburbs and hometowns.
Making out beside the dartboards at
the Empress while a Domino’s
Delivery driver kept yelling your
name, trying to bring you the UofA40
Pizzas that you ordered. While darts
whizzed by with five dollar bills
Tacked to the board and what could
have been any of the old bands
Serenaded our love that would
last until a midday Farrow Grick
Middle Departure.
I thought I was classy bringing a
twenty dollar bill to the Sugarbowl,
Ordering two bottles of La Fin Du
Monde and leaving enough for a tip.
Heading to whatever university party
I was bound to make an ass of
Myself at. I thought I was classy
switching over to Three Boars and
Eating Tapas for the first time.
My friend and I split wings and the
Best goddamn panzanella salad that
I still have ever eaten, every night.
I’d have to wait until midnight on
Thursday’s when my cheque deposited
To pay my tab.
Drinking fail pails at the Next Act
and sneaking puppies onto the patio
To try and impress all the servers
who I would end up becoming
friends with.
Telling stories about how my grand-
mother drank at the Strat back
When it was ladies and escorts only.
We danced at Blues on Whyte beside
People we thought were old but we
would end up looking just like. Wings
At Walkabout and then vegan wings at
the Buck. I watched tattoo roulette
Play out while you told me about how
much you missed back when Whyte
Was still cool.
I don’t know if it ever was.
Now I walk between the breweries
that all seem the same to me and see
Old friends on patios playing with
their toddlers and talking corporate
gigs. Another burger spot and another
pizza joint. Another beloved bar
turned Weed store. The cupcake shops
all closed down. I order some eggs and
bacon At Red Goose and fist bump
Happy Day before hitting up HazyD
Bakery for My weekly loaf of bread
and worry that these spots aren’t long
for this world.
I buy the fixings for charcuterie from
the Italian Centre. We used to just call
That cheese and crackers but now
there’s a fancy word for Sad Boy
Dinner. I still go to the Next Act. But
I’m a Red Star or Clementine cocktail
guy on a Friday
And I guess that’s growing up.
Conor Kerr is a Métis/Ukrainian writer living in Edmonton. He is the author of the poetry collections An Explosion of Feathers and Old Gods, which was shortlisted for the 2023 Governor General’s award. His novel, Avenue of Champions, was shortlisted for the Amazon Canada First Novel Award, longlisted for the 2022 Giller Prize and won the 2022 ReLIT award. He has a new novel, Prairie Edge, coming out in Spring 2024.
This article appears in the Mar/Apr 2024 issue of Edify
