Drip Dry to Fredericton By Tammy Armstrong Backpacks stocked wool sweaters balled over high-tests we hike out to the highway thumbing Thursday afternoon truckers on their way to the mill. All drop us some miles up the road where we take turns thumbing, drinking in irrigation ditches- smell of mulching leaves dog shit spring surrounding. Wrung from the saplings always the sombre dirt roads leading to places we've been raised to fear where we call, Can you see me now? Now? from behind tamaracks. Crouching, pissing over boots fighting through bramble back to the Trans-Canadian diesel rumble of potential ride. Mud scraped onto macadam smiles, rearrangements of hair- one hundred miles under a pullet angry sky we race, a whim for freedom- sixteen-year-olds drip-drying our way to Fredericton. Tammy Armstrong will take you places.

TODAY Current Article

DRIP DRY TO FREDERICTON Tammy Armstrong TRAIN OF THOUGHT Ian O'Neill THE CANADIAN FOOTBALL LEAGUE Doug Brown 1000 ACCORDIONS BAND Ernest Ogren BIRDLAND Tammy Armstrong

BLIZZARD Lorna Crozier RAPT IN AFGHANISTAN Godfrey Van de Leur HOME ICE Elizabeth Ferguson SNOW Elijah Schwinn

ENTER Forget Magazine PIGEON Rhonda Waterfall GORLILLA MUNCH Rich Cole EAST VANCOUVER: SUMMER Ian Benjamin Green PREHISTORIC TOAST Nathaniel G. Moore

IN SUCH A HUNGER Lorna Crozier AT WATER'S EDGE Beth Haulata OUTSIDE ZIMBABWE : PART II Miranda Post CARRYING THE STONE Lorna Crozier

   

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