It was a lovely Sunday in December for a photo shoot on the beach,
70° with some high clouds.
The day had a distinct lemony meringue feel to it. A familiar childhood comfort food memory. Or an 80’s television show.
I use to come to this beach when I was strung out.
Those were very different wintery Sundays when my brain felt a little like taffy. I relished the non sequitur fluidity, the free association that was the companion of drugs and no sleep.
But on this day, there would be no Scooby snacks.
There were clothes and props. A teepee. And a crew and their model.
Why did I do it?
I can as much answer that question as much as I know why my cats like to go in the cupboard.
It was comfortable.
Although I don’t think the later comes into the cats decision making.
I’m not sure I know what that means.
Biking Los Angles at night is invigorating, to say the least.
Just get me on the bike before I have a chance to think twice about it.
And I’ll shout more useless LA trivia at you than you need.
Or want. Or already know.
But, you already knew that.
I want to go south. You say the direction I’m pointing is east.
This gives the implication to not trust my sense of direction.
This might be the right sensation.
I promise I’ll get you were you need to go.
I mean, I know I’ll get to where I’m going.