{dodge.}

this weekend was grounding. or maybe it was releasing. i don't know. either way, it was astonishing and altogether necessary. we had to abort this city. the girl and i. cut it out of our stomachs like a malignancy. we drove that car to the coast. sought rest. out west. in a tiny town.

southern/british motel. brian the elderly clerk. takes care. kindergarten cop and cork screws. we bundle up our best, like a couple of red velvet cakes, without the red or the velvet, walking to the waterline. to bask. to meditate. to look like hobos. to listen to erik satie and get stoned on a cold beach, tucked away in a pile of driftwood. this is what dreams are made of kids: the escape. the getting out. life is a series of perfect moments. it is the transition from one to the other that screws us all up. we burnt sage and blessed ourselves by the bonfire. carried the holy stick with us, back to our beds. covered in sand. my lips tasting of salt.