Dolores Park, San Francisco, August 18th, 2009.
Everybody is lying in the grass.
Nobody works in this town.
There's a cool breeze in the air.
Dark brown whiskers sprout from my tanned face.
My hair is long and unruly.
Jeans, a loose fitting black button-up shirt, and black sneakers are my garb.
Next month I turn thirty-three.
Who knows where I'll be for that.
3 and 5 are my lucky numbers according to my horoscope.
Next to me is a bag stuffed with used books I bought on Valencia St.,
Mostly stuff by Miller and Knut Hamson.
I'm happy because there is nothing to do today.
Tomorrow, I'm flying to Balitmore to meet Andy and see my wonderful Georgia.
Poor, poor little Georgia!
I haven't seen her in over a year because I am a bad dog owner.
I'm good at leaving things behind.
I left my sister on the mountain a few days ago.
I left my tent early in the morning when it was still dark outside.
I was careful not to wake her.
Stars in every direction lit my path.
The mountain is our favorite place to be in the summertime.
We enjoy the simplicity of going to bed with the sun.
We enjoy the sound of wild pigs honking in the night under the moon.
We enjoy spinning around the hills with Dakotah in her old pick-up truck.
Mostly we enjoy being out of the city and out of reach.