Flying south on the 99.
said goodbye to a dearly loved friend tonight. Said goodbye to his tossled blonde head.
I've forfited some potentially perfect moments, but there's time for those with him.
Flying south on the 99.
she's driving.
The evenings discussion, over dinner at the Naam, is made tangible by a piece of music i've listened to once, fed from my ipod through a tape adaptor, out my crackling car speakers to our tired ears.
Because it's late, dark, and i'm feeling a little nostalgic, as I always do with goodbyes, I close my eyes and bite down on a wave of vibrant memory.
Cross legged on an old grey filing cabinet, set on its side, i'm waiting for bus # 44 to Vellmar. In front of me stands a tall german man all in jean, huge, socked feet in sandals. "They make 'em big here"
I'm warm and tender inside from gratitude: Neue Musik is swimming in my ears.
Next: We're riding bicycles, borrowed from couples we've been told to call our parents, through rusting grain. He is handsome in the sun's last strength.
But the darkness around me, lights on the 99 and a thobbing in my leg pull me off that trail, snaking its way through foreign fields.

ok, ok. i'm here.