Prologue

I set out expecting to do one task. I ended up doing four.

These four tasks were completed on July 12, 2012, but weren't uploaded till now since, frankly, the sheer volume of picture-uploading and story-writing was a bit staggering.

They're presented here not necessarily in the order they happened, but in the order that I think makes the most sense from a storytelling perspective.

It's a tale of adventure. It's got everything. Dungeons, fear, peril, laughter, hope, beauty. It's a tall tale about a man, little more than a bard with a beard, on a trip through a city, looking for a story.

They're best read in the order "Straight Line", "Trespassing The Future", "First Sight", and "Trespassing".

This is part one.

I

“Oh the places you'll go! There is fun to be done! There are points to be scored. There are games to be won.”
- Dr. Seuss, Oh, the Places You'll Go

It was a bright, summery, July day. The kind of day that us Canadians dream about for ten months of the year. The weather lately had been superlative, splendidly blue skies, temperatures pushing 25 C daily, trees and flowers in full bloom. Jimmy Buffet on every radio, lounge chairs on every deck. People who would ordinarily never consider wearing Acapulco shirts busted out their straw hats and garish shorts as they mixed drinks in souvenir Tiki mugs for their guests. Covers were torn from pools, awnings were rolled out across the city, and Peter Kelly started thinking about taking another dip in the harbour (in spite of the high concentration of Finless Browns).

I wasn't in any of those places. I didn't even have an MP3 player to listen to Jimmy. I was here:



More specifically, here:



Halifax isn't exactly a city of straight lines. The layout of the city is something like someone took eight or nine balls of yarn, tossed them in a colander, swirled them around, dumped the contents out on a map, and said "That'll do". So it was with some trepidation that I decided to set about walking in a straight line. Now, I didn't think about this much beforehand, and that'll be important in a moment, so just park your heiney and hear this tale.

Right next to Dalhousie, there's an IWK hospital. It's a nice facility, very modern. All white plastic and blue windows, glistening like polished chrome in the late afternoon sun. I hadn't picked it for any particular reason, except I knew that the corridor through from the main entrance was a straight line. To my mind, it was the perfect place to start.

My mind isn't very smart, but we'll get back to that.



Head held high, camera pointed at eye-level in front of me, I began striding confidently along my path. The first hundred-odd meters or so was easy. Some stopped cars threatened to force a deviation, but one thankfully moved back as I approached. I nodded a silent thank-you to the driver, though he would never know its true meaning.



I pushed the door open and headed inside. You can see that there's a minor jog next to the Tim's right there, but that didn't deter me. After all, once the line was long enough, that jog would be so insignificant so as to be completely invisible. I jogged around the jog with aplomb, impressing passersby and confusing children, and kept chugging away down the perfectly straight hallway.



I noticed as I was walking that a policeman (or security guard, I didn't get a great look at the badge) was walking parallel to me. Could it be? Maybe he's a fellow Player! Then he turned at a completely perpendicular angle and went down the hallway. Coward, I thought.



The doors slid apart for me as I emerged back into the harsh sunlight. Fortunately, my straight path was preserved, clearly delineated by a glimmering archway. I don't believe in gods, or fate, but something really wanted me to keep walking along this straight path. With renewed vainglorious hubris, I strode beneath the archway, singing a happy tune and thinking about how totally awesome straight lines are.



I started to get uneasy as I approached the narrow pathway leading between the fences. Although I was convinced of the righteousness of my goal, I couldn't help but feel as though I was forgetting something. Then it hit me. Or rather, I hit it.

A fence. A fence blocking my route.



A fence I couldn't jump.

Shit.

Alright, said I. I have to circumvent this with a minimum of deviation. Two routes opened ahead of me- the first was heading right and jumping over the fence. This path also led to death, or grievous injury, what we in the biz call a "Game Over". The second option was to turn left and go around the fence. This would take too long- I deemed it an unacceptable deviation.

My brain raced for a third option. Perhaps something I had seen on the way in (possible), or something to cushion the fall (unlikely), or a gift from whatever cosmic entity might be watching (in light of my unforgivable hubris, probably unlikely).

Then it came to me. "A-HA!", I cried, frightening a pigeon and, miles away, making Morten Harket feel a little bit weird for a second. On my way down the path, I'd seen a small lodge. Unless I was very much mistaken, it led inside the hospital, and it would be very silly to have such a thing on the side of the building if it didn't have ground access. I backtracked, keeping as close to my footpath as possible, and then headed over to the cabin.



The door was unlocked and, sure enough, within, stairs.

Bingo.

I ran down the stairs, eager to reach the bottom and continue my quest. Once there, I was presented with another option- left, or right? It occurred to me that my life was rapidly turning into a game of Dragon's Lair.



Left went into the garage, right went outside. I headed to the right door and tried to push it open. Only when I found it locked did I see the sign, stuck to the door like a horrible leech, sucking all the joy and goodness out of the idea of doors.



I wheeled around and headed back to the garage door, painfully aware that my straight line was rapidly dissolving. Still, the task said with a minimum of deviation and, to this point, I felt like I'd taken the least possible deviation from the course.



I shoved through the door of the garage and emerged into a cavernous, echoing pit. Coloured pillars plunged into the ground around me, their flared tops the only thing between me and a horrible, suffocating extinguishing. It was quiet as a tomb, and only barely better-lit. The antiseptic white of the walls clashed with the grimy pavement of the floor, and as I stepped forward, my footfall echoed menacingly off both.



Reasoning that anything with a way in must by necessity have a way out, I began walking in the hopes of finding a door leading off to street level. It wasn't a nice walk. The dark closed in around me, and shut off from the sun, I began to feel a chill settling in. Shadows danced on the edge of vision, slithering just out of sight as I twisted my head to look. Other sounds, darker sounds began to mingle with the echoes of my footsteps. Mad laughter, gibbering whispers, and the voices, the voices that said such things to me.

You will never escape, whispered one.

You're not good enough, snickered another.

Deckard was a replicant, a third interjected.

"He was not!", I called to no one in particular.

The laughing subsided and slowly, my footsteps became louder, until the very sound rang in my ears, deafening me, drowning out all other noise. Suddenly, I heard it shift- it wasn't that my footsteps were getting louder, it was that there was another pair. Terrified of what may be approaching, I broke into a run and, being careful to protect the Satch, rolled behind one of the pillars. Once I had my heart rate under control, I turned and looked at the approaching assailant.

It was a man, dressed in corporate-casual summer garb, striding confidently across the pavement. He didn't seem to have noticed that I'd vanished- but perhaps he was merely luring me into a false sense of security. This seemed to be the case, as he didn't turn from his course. Closer and closer he came, the sharp CLACK of his polished black shoes reverberating painfully about the room. I watched as he reached into his coat, and withdrew a glistening, sharp chunk of metal, his trajectory bringing him right to where I was huddled. I watched, petrified as he raised the wedge and pointed it squarely at me.

Then, the car parked next to me made a soft "BWORP" noise. I almost leaped up and shrieked, until I realized that the man's path had changed, and, appearing to not notice the crouched, bearded man next to his car, he opened his car door, sat down, and started it up.

I allowed myself a quick chuckle, but then realized something- this guy was going to leave. This was my chance to escape this vile pit. I waited until he rounded the corner (not wanting to go charging off after some random dude's car), and then quickly darted after him, each time waiting for his car to get just out of sight. finally, I heard the sound from the car fade, and, whirling around the corner myself, saw a ramp leading up, gloriously up.

Hold a mo', I thought. This place looks mighty familiar. Trying madly to put my finger on it, I turned slowly in a circle until I saw it.

Shit.



In my quest to walk a straight line, I had walked straight past the way out of the garage, barely a stone's throw from where I entered. Sheepishly, I wandered up the ramp, suitably chastened. Finally, after rounding another corner, I saw light at the end- the exit, no doubt, permitting easy egress for cars and, in this case, one worse-for-wear bard.



I kept a brisk pace towards the door, when I heard something just on the edge of perception. I got ready to tell those voices that if Deckard was a replicant, it made Roy's profound and heartfelt speech prior to his death utterly meaningless, thereby contradicting the entire thesis of the film, you utter philistine, but this noise was different. It sounded like grinding metal, like sliding, scraping aluminum.

Like a garage door closing.

All else was forgotten as my feet desperately pounded against the asphalt. My Satch. previously feather-light, suddenly felt like a sackful of stones. My camera, stalwart companion, felt like iron. My long suffering sneakers were as bricks of concrete. Finally hurtling around the corner, I saw just enough space left. I mustered all my strength, ducked, and dove through the door.



I landed on the other side in a heap, mercifully undamaged and without witness. I dusted myself off and stood up, taking stock of my surroundings. Two concrete walls rose up on either side, blocking my view of my surroundings. Glad to be free- indeed, glad to be alive- I jogged up the small incline and glanced around.

Wait a mo'.

Shit.

Shit.

Fuck.

I'd gone in one big circle. I was right back where I was when I'd first descended. Moreover, I'd just taken an incredibly circuitous route to simply take the path that I'd decided against earlier.



I felt beaten. My hubris, my conviction that my plan was infallible, my path righteous, had brought me low in the end. Glumly, I wandered over to University avenue, and began the trek back down my straight line, now indelibly marred by a twisting, vertical deviation.

But the universe wasn't done with me yet.



As I walked down University avenue, a thought wandered, unbidden, into my head- I was on University avenue because I knew it was a straight line.



Walking down University Avenue would take me right to the harbour.



I would never need to deviate from that course.



University Avenue started at Dalhousie.



Dalhousie was right next to the IWK.



I stopped in the middle of the street. Car horns blared, drivers yelled, lights changed regardless of either. The realization was like a brick wall I'd just wandered into, blocking any further progression until it was recognized and dealt with.

I could have walked literally one city block to the left of where I started and ignored entirely the misadventure with the garage.

Aw, man.



I wandered the street, lost and dejected, frustrated with myself for being such a doofus. The sun blazed as bright as ever, but I only had eyes for the ground, watching as my shoes scuffed along the sidewalk tiles, kicking up tiny dust clouds. I would have been about halfway down University avenue, I suppose. I stared at my feet, not really seeing, just ambling down to the harbour as a token completion for the task. My former verve was gone, to say nothing of my confidence as a Player.

It was at this point I realized I was walking on chalk. I turned around and realized some magnificent bloke had gone and written an abridged version of Dr. Seuss' Oh, the Places You'll Go on the sidewalk.



"Congratulations! Today is your day!
You're off to great places, you're off and away.
You have brains in your head, and feet in your shoes,
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.

And yes! You will succeed!
(98 3/4% guaranteed)

So be your name "Buxby" or "Bixby" or "Brae"
Or Moredcai-Ali-Van-Allan-O'Shae,

You're off to great places,
You're off,
So get on your way!"

I must have stopped and just stared at those words from my childhood for five minutes. Slowly, but surely, tendrils of cheer and positivity began to invade the shell of doubt and gloom that surrounded my heart. I could have saved myself that trip through the garage, sure- but how boring would that have been? Nothing's interesting when it goes perfectly. It's the mistakes that make a good story. It's the unexpected that gives it texture, it's the unplanned that gives it life, it's the stuff that goes wrong that makes it real.

Suddenly, the shell exploded in a burst of upbeat glee. If I hadn't gone down those stairs, I'd barely have had a Praxis. If everything had gone perfectly, I wouldn't have a tale to tell- just a page half full of pictures with a cursory explanation. What kind of a story is that?



I positively flew the rest of the distance to the harbour. It wasn't far, just a few blocks anyway. Infused with good vibrations and mellow sensations, I covered the remainder of the distance to the harbour with a smile on my face.



It was here that my straight line ended. I couldn't go across the harbour without taking an equally long straight line to the ferry terminal, and then there would be another straight line across the harbour on the ferry, and by then it's not really one big straight line anymore. I decided to call it here.

I looked around myself. From here, I could see across the harbour. To my left, I could see almost all the way to Bishop's Landing, a small collection of shops and high-end restaurants. To my right, the mouth of the harbour and George's Island.

Behind me was the sight every Haligonian knows. The one we all recognize, the one we can't escape, the one we loathe silently and aloud. The sight that can disrupt an otherwise fine day, the sight that can eat up hours in a heartbeat.

The most common sight in Halifax.

Epilogue

This task may be over, but the story is just starting! Check out chapter two of a hard day's tasking in my Praxis for "Trespassing the Future".