Stark
Sitting high atop the Citadel, overlooking the bright lights of Quebec City reflecting on the Saint Lawrence River, it hits her. Subtly at first, trickling down like a bead of wax from a lit candle, until the trickles become waves and the waves become a flood. It’s official: she’s fucked… or stoned, or high, or blitzed; whatever the terminology. Quite simply, she’s no longer sober. But how did she get here?
