I’m just going to come right out of the closet: I suffer from pretty intense anxiety. So I walk.
There are ghosts at Covenhoven. I heard them.
I spent part of my time in Fredericton in jail. Not just any jail. An old-school bread-and-water jail.
I wasn’t a bad driver then and I’m not a brilliant driver now, but travelling the same roads with one decade and hundreds of thousands of kilometres under my tires showcases the change.