After a crepe lunch accompanied with congenial conversation I found myself being transported from town to town and plaza to plaza on a teenage whim. To the beat of Senegalese rap and profane cackles emitting from the passenger seat, I spent the whole day in movement. Constantly looking out the window to the blurring "suburb-scape" or perpetually walking around the perimeter of any and every hole in the wall that made so much as a blip on our radar.
We spoke too loudly.
We ignored the admonishing signs (laminated or not) and came into contact with as many breakables as we could.
We saw Steinbeck for $1.50.
The whites of my eyes almost leaked from the sockets.
My hands were matte with household dust collected from the old woolen sweaters placed on musty racks.
Sometimes we didn't speak too much.
But it was fine. We let the veteran couches do the talking for us. Having them imply their biographies to us through their stained threading.
When we were finished the clouds had eaten the sun. Once home I got my things through the door only to put on my sneakers and head out again about half a mile up the road to an overlooked haven.
I fell in love just a little bit.
Walking home with 12 rich and warm ounces coating my stomach, we talked about a variety of things using the same 3 or 4 words over and over again. It gets our point across, however reprehensible our method may be.
And now I'm here.
Trying to record this rare pleasantry I've experienced in the past 10 or 11 hours. I'm not very good at recording anything. I even suck at taking photographs. But something is better than nothing.
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