I kept on pavement, and a few stolling steps later, there in my face are hundreds of little red chinese lanterns.
I just touch them and they drop into my palm.
I pop them, suck them, and spit out the seeds without bothering to remove them all polite-like with my fingers.
I got my cheap and only headphones on. I keep adjusting my stride to the next song.
It’s a little weird, pavement. I feel like it’s been so long that I don’t quite remember how to do it right, like I’m a little bit moth ridden.
I round the corner where the Micronesians live and it smells like damp fur.
A thought floats in like a cloud. This is why I want to go to the cliffs.
This is all I need-- well, mostly, and I have it right here. I just had to break my own paper.
Even the sign of the church looks different from this slow angle.
I can look into my neighbors yards and living rooms easily, sideways, with my sunglasses on.
I am a part of the web again.
I am phone lines and speakers.
Of course, when I finally arrive I have to excuse myself right away to go wash my sandpaper and I’m a little tired, but I’m sure that will improve as I get better at pavement,
and as I learn to carry emergency medical, functional and entertainment supplies in all my backpack sections, and as tone my tattoos and smarten up my cities.
All this plastic makes me consider going to the cliffs to meet mom in Vegas and drive “four hours through nowhere” to Lali’s parched lot.
I want to see her underground house. I want cowboy boots and places that are too wide and blue to crack me a little, because I hate these things.
I look forward to shady looking men in rest stops and creeks that don’t work and graffiti in bathroom stalls that make no sense.
I need these thigns. I’ve gotten too comfortable.
Don’t you understand what happens to me? It’s cheap linoleum.
It’s bends me the wrong way and doesn’t let me go.