It's been a while since I've written while looking at the beach. Well, I'm looking at the beach now, like right now. I'm on the bridge over Topanga Creek, on the westside of PCH, facing south, and to the left, there's the ocean. Seagulls flapping heavy in the sun air.
It's fucking lovely.
And I just surfed.
And smoked half a filtered spliff.
Nina Simone's jivin' off the iPhone.
What a summer day.
There's a lot to be said about the last two years of my life, and I haven't said it yet, much less written it down, not most of it. But see, that's what the rest of it's for. Today I was thinking about all the fucking things I have to do. And I thought, why am I doing all these things.
[a man-bun just walked by, with his mum]
The point is, son, is that life's all about people wanting you to do things. You know like for them or for other people. The trick is to make sure you're doing the things you like. And you're doing it for you.
Fuck all the rest.
Get money.
Fuck hoes.
I just saw my reflection in a woman at the Chevron on 4th and Pico. We both needed air in our tires. She had brown skin just the tint that would, like me, be ethnically ambiguous. She had sunglasses on. She was wearing workout clothes, and was athletic, and slightly masculine, and still very attractive.
And she was driving the same fucking car as me; white Ford Explorer Sport, same year, except her's had a black back hatch panel. That was strange. I wonder if she's writing about it right now...
Start Spring.
Winter can wait, but always work on it.
Start Spring.
(and remember what Broah said)
