Two Latte Morning

August 16th, 2006

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My Friend-

The four-masted schooner rolls towards harbor and the seal heads to bathe on the rock; and I sit tranquilly, deep breath, wondering: how did I get here? This is not my beautiful house, Charles. And this most definitely is not my beautiful wife; in fact, it’s my boss’s beautiful wife. But it’s not what you think! We are merely discussing the Golden Age of Hollywood; the sordid lives of Monroe, Grant, Miller, Huston, Clift. We crave to screen The Misfits.

Later we shall return the clients to Castine - the last town loyal to the English and until Vietnam, the last battle lost by our fair and powerful motherland – by Hinkley Picnic Boat. The boat is thirty-six feet in length with an eighteen inch draw, allowing it to back right up to the shore and equipped with grill, sink, bedroom, fridge, bathroom, etc. My breakfasts range from simple cereal enjoyed while conversing current events to decadent blackberry pancakes, apple pie, scrambled eggs – a feast. All the fruit we eat comes from the property, much like all our serenity. Charles, I am a twenty-three year old college drop out with too much will and little self-control. How did I get here?

More-

The question that is scratching it’s way through my neural jungle: Should I move to LA or should I stay in NYC? As far as my personal life is concerned, I should stay in New York. I’m just now learning how to use the city to my best advantage. Meeting people I can actually spend time with, finding out where I’ll have the most fun, how often I can go out to fancy dinners, how to meet girls. In LA I definitely met people quickly but it was either people I could care less about or like shooting fish in a barrel, and frankly, it’s like why would you ever want to analogue the friend-making-process to shooting fish in a barrel. It’s just wrong. I’m maturing so quickly in certain aspects of my personality (and physique… ooh la la… no not really, I’m stunted) that I consciously watch it happen. I’m quieting down (sometimes) and taking things with a more rational attitude; and you know what, this is where I want to go. I should be less impulsive, not so easily excited. That’s why I lost Sarah. True: she was just as hyper about our new found friendship as I, but she also became scarred of it while I embraced it. She ran away and I’ve been in the woods with a flashlight, whistling to no avail.

Fondly,
Shababo

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