R.I.P. Bitter Welshman

Many of us who frequent certain downtown Montreal bars have lost a friend. His name was Marc Williams and he was just fifty-years-old. Often referred to as the Welshman, or more appropriately the Bitter Welshman, Marc was proud of his homeland. In my first Christmas poem, I made the egregious mistake of spelling his nameContinue reading “R.I.P. Bitter Welshman”