Previous to working at the Poppy, Paul lived on an island of his own making. He spent a winter piling snow on a remote and very wide area of the Red River- some estimate the pile reached over seven storeys. He had befriended a snow plough driver who dumped his load in the spot Paul had chosen. This driver worked in one of the dirtiest areas of the province so there was a lot of grit in the snow he collected. When the winter ended and the ice and snow melted, the grit and vast amount of dirt that had been embedded sank. It just broke the surface of the water once it settled on the river bed. Paul then added more dirt to the mound until he had created a tall island upon which he built a simple three storey house, a room on each floor. He constructed a small jetty adjacent to the island which, instead of having wooden slats utilised the trampoline he had been given as a boy. In order to reach his porch one jumped on the trampoline jetty until sufficient height was reached, whereupon a modest degree of aerialism was required to land at the front door. On summer nights Paul would practise his twists and back flips beside his home and when darkness finally fell, he would execute an elegant arc which carried him through the top window whence he would land on his bed, usually on the left hand side.
But the big city called to Paul and he left his island when the first geese passed overhead. Diners at the Poppy might notice he has a contemplative air about him and observe him staring into the distance. Perhaps he is remembering the island and the times he came close to leaping over his own home.