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You know my feelings on Los Angeles, and you said yourself it was the antithesis of New York, which you love and I, despite my best efforts, am developing a fondness for as well.
I definitely relate to you on the “how did I get here” side of things. If you wanna trace it back, Allllll the way back, you would see that pretty much all of the “cool” events of my life have revolved around building that poetry machine three years ago and walking down the hallway with it during the exact right thirty seconds to be seen and subsequently carried away on golden wings of New Media. Do I deserve it? Meh, probably not. But I’m pretty good at it, and I got lucky. I’d put you in the same category, sancho. That’s our cross to bear. But soon we should be rich enough to hire assistants to carry it for us, so, bummer averted.
Oh, so you missed a Classic Philadelphia Evening™ last night. We went to that fountain at logan circle and danced like children of the night and drank beers. OH! But on the way there, do you know that creeeeepy bridge by 29th and Pennsylvania Avenue a couple blocks from my house? Anyways, it’s this ancient green-peeling-paint-and-rust walking bridge that pretty much just goes straight into the jungles of Fairmount Park with no lights or anything. So, naturally, we get really curious Theoooooo, and we start walking over the bridge. The lighting is pretty much like lighting on the moon. Shadows are seriously and unnaturally black. And we’re joking and laughing until we look into the darkness ahead and two cigarettes just flare up in the darkness at the end of the bridge, which is surrounded by overgrowth. So we stop and turn on our heels and walk back.
And that reminds me of another story. When me and that guy were crossing over the border from Bulgaria into what was then known as Serbia and Montanegro at two in the morning on foot. And the cab driver gave us his knife to take with us, because we “can’t go into Serbia without a knife!” Anyways, yeah, we were walking in this bizarre neutral zone between the two countries, and there were skeevy duty free shops and cigarettes smoldering in the darkness. It was the scariest thing ever. I was trying to just look straight ahead, using my peripheral vision like Bruce Lee does. But LS was wearing one backpack on his back and one across the front with his hands crossed, thumbs twiddling, looking from side to side frantically, also I think he had a leather scali cap. And, if memory serves, I think he was wearing a sandwich board that said “Rob and Rape Me” but it was written real cute, like the Rob and Rape were sharing one big R.
I’ll forward along a video from the fountain up later to make fountains of sadness and regret shoot from your tear ducts.