San Francisco for me has scents, a certain feeling of life, a certain feeling of self, a certain taste of doomed adventure to it.
The cafe I rested in, the spilled tea, the writer.
Later my friend's little apartment, empty, for me, since she spent her wedding anniversary in - Venice Beach. What an irony.
Her husband's family in Berkely. The game evening and a hand on my thighs. The smell of forest and water. A veil of tears, a cutting breeze around my nose on a motorcycle. A brand new sexy neglige that felt so misplaced on me right then and there.
The ferry taking me to the other side, the wine, the coincidence the smiles. Sleeping on a very uncomfortable air mattrass of a spontaneous host. She was going to marry and she was so young. And you so lost and I so crying.
The couch and our voices a whisper. The phone so hot on my ear and the summer was full of tears.
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