- what then? [her name is probably Emily]
If I suppose so, the reason is clear, the reason why, for this treason in my mind towards every other poor city on this green Earth. The Truth is what keeps me coming back to the warm, light ocean breeze burnt skin LA, galloping back from southern hemisphere winters and Latin gems of an old city feel that I love.
It's not the buildings that bring me back. Not even the weather or the waves. It's the faces and smiles and spliffs, the Truth - truths, all of them, city wide; the friends and the comfort of hame that makes it impossible for me to live anywhere else. I don't know where I'd be if it were not for those Pytka girls.
The old cozy beach house, right on the sand in Venice. I wouldn't be writing here now without it I don't think. It's Monday, nearly 9:00am. I'd probably be in an office right now if it wasn't for those two. Sweet Sacha, and dear Arielle, they saved me. They shined a light for me away from the grind, saved me from certainty and the security of a real life with real things like a real job and real money. From a future that was clear, they changed me so that the simple relief of ocean breeze on a rail of a third floor terrace in the sun brings me peace. Eyes close for a second so all that fills my head is the banter sound of beautiful women and curious men on a summer Sunday, and the music, the taste of watermelon and salsa, and tequila limeade and bummed cigarettes on my throat and my tongue, and the intangible feeling of joy from being back home.
