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BOSA on chiropractors

judge wopner

TRIBE Member
"ontario, the deisel of the land/
toronto, hogtown in hand

from east to wend end/
the proudest people i send

and anything west of bathurst/
nothing rhymes with bathurst"

its friday morning in toronto's bustling financial district,
im cold and have no home.
walking carefully among the pride of the TSX, the money makers cream,
skimming the finest lines from taylors to cover their weary backs and balding heads.
its raining, i feel slivers of ice and jokingly remember its still february in hogtown.
ammassing a small fortune dime by dime, americans chase the dollar, we chase the loonie.

my dreams of an independent and arbitrary medical practice have almost washed away from my memory;and how they need me i thought. high choleterol, low blood pressure, depression, and chronic pain, diabetes and muscular distrophy... it was these and other such imaginary illenss i would fight tooth and nail in the face of pharmacy brigades.

you see my name is Bosa, and I am a Chiropractor.

luckily for me one need only to attend college to become a chiropractor, showing little more than a G.E.D. from one of the Greater Toronto Area's finest educational academies (academy in the sense that the bulk of our classes were in portables). The fine people at the Chiropractic college of Canada welcomed me and my many neurosies with open arms.

I learnt the art of cracking backs and breaking necks, of twisting spines and tearing limbs. It was all so worthwhile. You see the nerves in our body all run through the spine of our backs. thus by properly alinging the back all of lifes problems are solved. Hence the reason chiropractors have helped so many peope become addicted to monthly adjustments.

i joke my like minded chiro friends, i joke because i love. yes of science and sanity i know so precious little. i would not falter in my course, set against the mythic backdrop of toronto's west side....a voracious mix of italian, portugese and polish: there was little italy, ossington st, and that polish nieghborhood with the most foolish spelling road "ronsesvalles". only the polish with their crude use of sausage meats and pretty girls would choose to name their part of town something that no one could pronounce or spell. god bless those slavic bastards.

but onwards into the anals of the gardiner expressway west, the kingsway and its lovely bride the queesquay. it is here my practice would take shape. after enlisting local brazillian street toughs who i mistakenly believed were just really tanned portugese lads, i accidentally forced out my only competition, a local osteopath with loucd cheers and a rousing rendition of "afternoon Samba", its was a stereotype even yours truly shed a tear for.

people came from all walks and avenues to be adjusted and cracked. secretary after secretary refused my foolhardy and heavy-handed advances. bussiness was great, and for the first time i felt accepted in the medical community as an equal and not simply a target of yet another smear campaign. something began to creep inside me:

i was reminded of myself who once said: "the folly of science is the praise of madness". perhaps i too was so deserving. rains gathered speed in the east, the delicate stench of spring was whispering at my nose, it was march in toronto, and days of heat would mingle wildly with days of cold. I would remain here until the hard cake of summer could soothe my winter weary bones.

Dr. Bosa M.D, as is.
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