I sit here watching June pass by. In boats. Elegant ones, with ropes alongside of them holding well-kept people. They wear sunglasses, drink champagne rozé and eat salmon wraps. There’s an odd bright-orange life vest, topped by a blonde boy’s head. And smaller boats, dented and damaged. Cans of beer. More sprinkles of orange-blonde.
Across from me, a small polyester boat is tied to bicycle racks by ropes that match its mossy interior. A young man sits in it. No shirt. He empties the last of the water out of the boat using a can, stopping to take a break every few sweeps. He stares, drinks coca cola. His flank muscles visible from strain. His skinhead friend arrives with a Jack Russell terrier which he throws in the canal. It happily swims circles while the men struggle to get the rusty engine started. They pull at it, forcefully, and fanatically. Both have goes. Then suddenly, the engine roars as it awakes from its prolonged winter sleep. They leave full throttle and for a moment, the dog is desperate. But they return and sweep him out of the water in one, powerful burst of energy. June explodes in colours.