We went to Montreal and all we got was this lousy poutine stain
When Evan left the Saskatchewan prairies for Montreal he settled in the borough known as Le Plateau-Mont-Royal. Despite bearing a similar geographical namesake the Plateau couldn’t have been more unlike home, making it all the more appealing.
When incoming settlers first populated western Canada, they consumed ridiculously large plots of farmland, stretching out as far as they could to make the most of the vast emptiness. In contrast, the Plateau was the most densely populated neighbourhood in all of Canada, making it the perfect place for Evan to hide.
Cruising down the St. Laurent strip, Evan was never accosted for his embarrassing lack of French. This was doubly important as Evan was cursed with a Franco-surname – Lefebvre – that made him susceptible to demands in a native tongue he never bothered to master. Similarly, there were enough local slummy bars for Evan to haunt without having to be seen at the same place twice – ideal for a budding young alcoholic on the go.
Tucked between the Latin Quarter, Little Italy, East Island and the Jewish part of Mile End, the Plateau acted as a middle-ground between hipster and Hasid, mobster and McGill. Boasting a wild mélange of inhabitants, the Plateau was a fucked up buffer for all kinds of creeps, weirdos and sketchbags to filter through. Where else could you run across an ex-lover at a 24 hour poutine joint, an old roommate at a couples-only erotic movie theatre or a long-lost cousin at a sketchy dépanneur?