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there were filthy hippies in the park. all drums and weed and dishevelled. they looked like someone's idea of a hippie.
the homes along the marina were ostentatious. huge windows left uncurtained so passersby could view the lavish furniture, the high high ceilings.
i ate two crepes. one savory, one sweet. the gooey cheese and mushroom was best. we scraped the thick sauce up with our forks. our cigarettes were tipped with gold.
it's nice to be in motion. what i like about travel, commutes, transit isn't the destination. it's the inbetween. a few hours of not really being anywhere. the closest to flight i'll get without wings.
