hunting tommy africa

Out on a whim, I decided to escape Vancouver on my days off and head to some alien world like Whistler. I was going to go alone but having a driver is not bad too. I'd hate to freeze my ass off while I wait for the bus in that winter wonderland.

Bon drove all the way while I dream in the passenger's seat. He was deviously manipulated to book the best suite in a bed and breakfast and he hated every minute of it except moments with the jacuzzi and immaculate bedsheets. The reason? It was a bed and breakfast inn, practically someone's mansion made up like a high-classed whore to be sold to the general public.

So we checked out after a night and instead of doing fun activities we could only do in Whistler such as touring the mountains on a snowmobile or ice skating on a lake (because there's not enough snow yet and the lake, is well, still made up of water and not ice), we went shopping. Yep, strolled around a village full of shops and restaurants. Oh and argue about numerous things, mainly because I drive him crazy, like going out of my way to convince him to go find this happening club called Tommy Africa's only to change my mind about it once we get there.