by ALICE AND YANKA

Alleyways. La ruelle, c'est un endroit sale et dangereux, mais tout à fait adapté pour un pique-nique sur l'asphalte. Il y a des chats errants, des gens pas d'dents, et un bagel par terre, moisissant tranquillement.

Justement, we came upon a two-party picnic in la ruelle last week. As we approached the portentous spread, we noticed how the food was made of different fabrics sewn and stitched together into some splendid fare. The cheeses were felt and denim, the egg-salad cotton and the baguette faux-suede. The meats were stuffed animals. "We haven't hunted them yet!" they said.

Idealists, you say? Well, we soon figured our two trouble-fêtes to be performers, and have since elected ourselves spoke-persons for picnics in old alleyways, specifically when the wallet's barren, yet you still feel like eating with humans about. Oh, and don't forget: les vendanges, c'est à l'automne! Grappa, grandpa? Oui? Make your own booze by plundering the vineyards throughout the city's dédales as soon as the grapes are plump, and then see how fun your picnic will become come summertime.

Sinon, cheap wine, Orangina and apple peels equal rotgutastic sangria. But faites gaffe: les soirs de pleine lune, on court la folle chance d'apercevoir l'Animal Muet des Ruelles, mais de loin seulement car il file à vive allure, les dreads à l'horizontale, sur sa bécane décâlissée au moindre signe de vie. El Farouche! On peut lui jeter des cennes ou des dollars lorsqu'il passe, or, il ne faut jamais le regarder dans l'Oeil ou c'est fini. So be wary when you start packing a paper bag with food, hand grenades, wood plates, etc., and get ready to explore les ruelles! For a review of your picnic(s), send us an e-mail and we'll turn up armed with velvet wine and knit puke, white silk stars, and pen and pad for everyone. Johnny Raw dies today.

La table en arrière au 4051 St-Hubert, le samedi après-midi. Pour manger des chips and enjoy the dirt-cheap ride. Before someone can cry: "J'ai ppperdu mon pppoème pppis mon dentier," le vinaigre vous collera aux bajoues, vos cheveux s'ront pleins de sel, and you may very well get the best fake tan ever out of a smudge of Doritos. La porte des toilettes des hommes est ouverte en permanence. Ça donne le goût de manger des chips aux boules à mite avec une bonne bière au soleil. Quoi de plus estival, han?! Sun, beer, and a huge table for your one-dollar chips! Quoi de plus chaud qu'ça?! Mothball chips for Mayor!

The window at 174 Fairmount Ouest. When the thermometer is broken because it's 400 degrees outside, and there's no money at all in the bank for daytime activities, it's time to visit the dépanneur and rob the place blind, naked. Ben non, it's to buy iced tea or a popsicle, and then trudge to Fairmount street to stare at the #174 window. Who lives there? How could anyone possibly fit through the front door? Why are there old feathers in the window? Enough trottoir is at hand to sit comfortably and grope your imagination for some answers. We met our mentor on that sidewalk, the uncouth Mom Manioc, a plumber devastated by stress and intestinal madness. He owns the cheap motel now. Done with groping? Hungry? Ride away as far east as possible (the 29 Rachel can take you there) and go lose yourself dans les restos dingy de l'Est d'la ville, à l'abri des cools pis des beaux de la rue St-Viateur.

Mais l'été, en fait, c'est à la Brasserie Laurier (266 Laurier E.) que ça brasse. Pas besoin de s'épiler ou de se déguiser en FB pour se droguer icitte! Our hieroglyphs from a previous incident there read like this: J'aime la table en fausses lattes de bois, j'aime. Inspiration to draw compulsively and write to boss. Serveur efficace de Terrebonne. Must save him from sea of Lotto-Video machines. Poitrine de poulet avec trimmings: $5.75. Not stiff: one can order with an eyebrow painted red and snigger unabatedly for hours. No problem. Bon Jovi sur le juke-box et menu diabolique plaqué su'l'mur. This spot's ideal for eluding your silly friends' stupid plans of going to the St-Sulpice, sur la terrasse, un vendredi soir. Bieurk! No stars to be found for le St-Sulpice. Zero.