Moose Jaw is to Saskatchewan what Red Deer is to Alberta—the province’s third largest city just by virtue of transportation. There’s not much to do other than a spa and a casino. While the railway station used to take passengers directly to Minneapolis and Chicago, now all it does is shunt freight with stinky diesel locomotives. Unemployed bearded men wake in the morning from the drunken stupor of last night and roam the streets without objective. Perhaps they might’ve liked it if the whore houses of last century were still open across the street from the former train station.
The landscape is so flat you could probably see the next town if it weren’t for the wind that picked everything up and threw the streets into a fog of drifting snow and dust. Everything is so damn dusty. The cars are dusty, the buildings are dusty, and if you stayed out long enough there would be a thin layer of dust on your clothes, too.
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