Hellhound | Prologue

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HELLHOUND | Prologue

December 2013
    Whining. That's all that I have heard since touching down at Pearson Airport earlier this morning. I've had a half dozen conversations since arriving at YYZ and every person I came across, they all want to discuss the same topic - the weather. This irritates me to no end. I am of the mind that there are far more interesting things to discuss with another human being than snow. Especially here in Toronto. I'd even take a back and forth about the doomed Toronto Maple Leafs over discussing "how cold it got". With a circus sideshow for a Mayor and a trigger happy police force lurking in the shadows there are much more stimulating topics of conversation to bring up. Shovel your driveway, salt your walkways and shut the fuck up about it, this is Canada.

    That is also a valid point. Being Canadian a lot of us tend to take a sort of loathing pride in our ability to cope with the harsh winter elements. That's fine, however, those of us that live in Toronto should count our blessings. We live in one of the most southern areas of the country and because of that we rarely experience the brunt of what old man winter has to offer. Yet a great deal of us continue to bitch about it. After what I have seen over the last few years, after what I have forced myself to endure…let's just say that a few centimetres of snow is as bothersome as a sunny day in July. Well would you look at that, here I am still talking about the weather. Terrible, terrible.

    It's five o'clock in the evening and I'm sitting on the edge of the bed in my hotel room. With my cellphone in hand I find myself debating whether or not I should let any more people know that I am back in town. The first person I called wasn't exactly thrilled to hear from me and that got me thinking that I should just remain off the grid until I get word from one of my potential employers. There is no one in this city that I really owe anything to and I doubt very many people would even be upset if they discovered that I was here and didn't come knocking at their door. When you've been gone as long as I have the world tends to forget you. People keep on living. Now don't mistake that as a 'poor me' statement, I'd double over with laughter if I came to discover that people actually missed me. There wasn't one person in my life that I left on good terms with, save for those who trained me. When I left Toronto this first time my loved ones were sad. When I left the second time a great deal of them took it as a personal slight.

    Fuck 'em.

    It's best I don't reach out. I really do dread the thought of having the same conversations forty times over. "Hey Mat, how was [insert country here]? What was it like working for [insert sleazy promotor here]? How much of that [insert nationality here] pussy did you get?". I have no use for answering the same queries over and over again. My time in Toronto will not be spent spouting stock answers to trivial inquiries. Mind you I am only assuming that my stay will be short. If none of these contracts actually materialize then I may very well find myself working the Canadian and North Eastern U.S. circuit until I get another offer. Not that that would be a bad thing but as a professional I'd like to earn the money that my skill set demands.

    While contemplating the idea of contacting someone I realize that I cannot remember the last time I actually spoke to anyone here in Canada who wasn't a promotor, manager or agent. My parents, my siblings, hell even the Costigans - I've gone out of my way to not contact any of them. More or less because of the aforementioned state that I left the majority of them in. The reasons that I've drawn the ire of so many people in my life vary from case to case but I suppose the blanket reason would be 'the big decision' that I made before leaving. I found that it was a deep desire of mine to live my life without any kind of crutch, be it alcohol, drugs, or people. I want to live on my own terms without relying on anyone or anything but myself. I've seen what happens to those who are dependant on such things. I depend on me.

    "What to do, what to do." I say aloud. Some people have a problem talking to themselves, some people find it odd. I don't on both counts. Vocalizing thoughts and ideas can be very cathartic even if there isn't anyone around to listen. "I could call Kelly but knowing him he's off to some exotic local to be voluntarily brutalized by a man with broken glass covering his fists or worse." I say. "Then there is Rory but last I heard his demons had taken him over and were consistently leading him on a merry chase for answers via liquor bottles and pills." No need to attempt either. Those two are the only people that I wouldn't need pander too, we could actually have a decent conversation. Despite that, I decide to wait. I'd rather not know what they are doing and they don't need to know that I'm back.

It may be better that I just keep to myself.

For now.