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urban cartography.
9-piece series
I'd like to relay a few things I've learned in the company of attractive girls:
First, riding in a shopping cart at my semi-drunken running speed is supposedly hard on the tailbone (also known hilariously as the "coccyx"—a word even doctors can't say without smirking).
Second, the ability to determine a song's decade by the amount of reverb on the snare is, in fact, amusing. It's just that most don't appreciate the subtlety.
Third—and this is key—cracking a joke that even tangentially involves shemales, no matter how hilarious it sounds in your head, is probably not your best bet on a first date.
But most importantly, I've learned that the Mission has a color. Its surfaces are always a kind of yellow brown—every inch of them. Even when the sky is blue, and the buildings are grey, and the street is black, and the trees are green. That singular, unflinching tone drowns them out.
I guess my synæsthesia's acting up again.
In closing, allow me to share a vaguely worded anecdote:
I once attended a party at a house in Oakland, and spent most of my time on the deck out back. It might have been Berkeley, by the way, as I often confuse the two at the residential level. Anyway, there was a canopy of eucalyptus leaves above us, and a decent supply of alcohol. I had a few girly drinks; flavored vodka and the like. I’m still not sure what I think about the people I met that night. Whatever. I was there to collect experiences. And I did.
The point is, when it comes to the places we go, it’s usually the circumstances—not the geography—that determines whether or not they find somewhere to live under our skin. Unfortunately, the geography is the only part we can hold on to. No matter how many times we return, those circumstances will never be waiting for us.
Until I finish my flux capacitor, that is.
Patience.
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