lying in the grass at willard with brett and we both agree that there's something special about the way the light and the trees relate to one another here. in this bay area , the Bay Area, they dance. it is beautiful. i think i'm here for inventories. i carry four notebooks with me that i use every day for different purposes but what it all boils down to (and what won't come out in the wash) is that i live by lists. here is the latest addition to the collection.
day two of trying for dead and company tickets at golden gate park. i'm in.
first in-person interview since my first job. bart to city. i sit at the table and look at the panel of interviewers and i feel like a child. i'm sixteen years old and this is my first service job.
bus ride home i'm dozing off reading nausea, which i read 20 pages of on the 8th of july 2024 and did not pick up again until this day (two days later as i'm writing this, i have finally put it to rest).
the knicks win. frankie and i wear blue and orange wigs that he found on the side of the road (2 of 12).
at willard park jovan does not recognize me because my hair is not usually orange. he reads sci fi and the hip house dwellers eat cherries and pie and drink sweet wine. this is where we look at the leaves. chris who they met the day prior tells me "i love these hippies," referring to us. he tells me every time his children (who are older than me) asked what time it was he would tell them "it's time to get ill." it is hacky sack summer. it is park summer. it is stone fruit and sunlight dance summer. storm brings bubbles and it's as if i've just arrived at hip house for the very first time. dead and company and sunshine and the bubbles and the park. what happened in the interim?
the night ends with funk night. we ride bikes and i have one to ride for the first time in a long time. i've gotten used to being without wheels. jordan had rope access level three re-certification in san diego last week and met a french man who offered him a job in france. the story goes that this man pulled up on a green cruiser bike with a cigarette in one hand every day of the class. now the bike is mine. no gears and no hand brakes. a learning curve.
we dance in our wigs and the bartender dons one. we dance so hard.
after we meet romeo, who went to berkeley high school and who loves it here. he asks where we go out and we realize we don't. there is pride in being home bodies here, though. somehow it is home everywhere with hip house. i sit on the fire escape the next morning and i'm all gratitude, boundless, ebbing and flowing down onto parker street below.