Sechelt 08/08/2022



After our meagre family dinner, l was sitting on the back porch looking out over my exorbitantly rented 20-sq.-foot artificial lawn. It, and some rubbery shrubbery, the only things separating me from some foreign investor’s 10-bed, 15-bath Airbnb mansion. There were vaping inhabitants hanging out of every orifice. Their pungent cloud of some inferiorly fabricated cannabis smoke wafted my way…

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My three-year-old goddaughter came out to join me, and in her sweet, parched voice, barely audible over their din, asked, “God-dad, may l please have a drink of water?”

Out of the corner of my eye, l spotted the SCRD (Robotic) Hydration Patrol Vehicle cruise slowly by, so l had to reply, “l am so sorry Babygirl, but you have already had your allotted litre for the day. You can have half of mine tomorrow, OK?”

“OK,” she dejectedly replied, hanging her sweet head. Then she perked up a bit and asked – again in that sweet raspy voice – “God-dad, what does allotted mean?”

Kenn L. Custance, Sechelt

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