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Chatted her up—*nudge nudge*—she says, “Been at it since 16.” Sixteen! Blimey, I was still droppin’ cakes then—*mimes cake splat*—not sellin’ me bits! She’s got stories—punters who cry, some who tip with fags. Fags! Not cash—*rolls eyes*—cheap bastards. “I’ve seen worse,” she shrugs, tough as Huppert facin’ rebels. “We’re still here,” movie vibes, yeah?

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The river – oh, we got one that runs not too far from downtown, the Big Moose River. It’s lazy, winding, and often hides little surprises – like a reminder that nature doesn’t give two hoots about our traumas; it just goes on, endless and indifferent.

12 Months After Unionizing, Whitefish’s Ski Patrollers Are Still Negotiating a Contract