Reunion on Whyte: El Lobo Remix

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So, there I was, me and a couple Pharmacy buddies walking down the street. We had just finished a full day of exams, a day before the school year would even start. The exams were supposed to be a cumulative test of the 2 last years of school. Pretty messed up, eh? Yes, I know.

Straight out trippin after our harrowing day, we needed to unwind. We planned to pick up some beers and cigars, and enjoy them on one guy's 18th floor balcony overlooking the U of A hospital.

Out of nowhere, a strange face accosted me. Not strange exactly, but rather unexpected. It was one of my best friends, Warren.

He was supposed to be back in town, only I didn't know when. He and his friend were going to meet up with our old high school friends, people we ain't seen in years after a chance encounter on the street. He said that he was looking for some tea cafe. And he was with Pete Wong.

"Oh yeah, where he at?" said I.
"He be on his way," said Warren. "Just you wait."

A half minute later comes Slippery Pete, loping around like an armless chicken dressed in a nice fancy suit. He looked the same since the last time I saw him, on the streets of Toronto.

After I gave Pete a chest bump for old times' sake, Warren and Pete still needed to find this place called Steeps.

I ditched my original Pharmacy crew, being that I was going to see them tomorrow.
"We'll see you on the 18th," said they.
"There better be some stuff when I get back," said I.

At Steeps, there was Karr-Ming and Leila, the VB pack.
KM was now running one of the hospitals in town; the recently engaged Leila had returned from a long stay in Japan.
KM said about 50-odd people showed up at the 10-year reunion, which actually wasn't too formal, just a gathering at some bar.

Fashionable late came Owen Jung aka OJ aka the Juice. Looking slightly unruffled, carrying a shoulder bag, the Juice was as juiced up as always, feeding off the high from his natural juices. His juice rubbed off on the rest of us.

The Juice sounded like he was about to be living in a cardboard box, if things didn't pick up, back in grad school with no job and loan sharks knocking on his door.
Slippery Pete was now articling his way to the top of a downtown law firm, working mad hours for mad respect.

We talked. We reminisced. Ain't nobody really changed. Throw us into plaid flannel, skater shoes, Mondetta shirts and Rachel haircuts and into a 10 year time machine and nobody would've missed a step.

Later, on the balcony, I had a beer and a cigar as I watched the slowing trickle of traffic down below.