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| The beaches are behind me, I guess. |
The aforementioned Thanksgiving weekend will involve sunshine, sand, saltwater, traffic, smog, earthquakes, taco trucks, live music, lots of pictures, some alcohol, valleys, canyons cornet asphalt, palm trees, stereotypes, traffic, driving, running, hearing, smelling, tasting, thinking, lusting and writing.
I will find the taco stand where Q-Tip left his wallet. I will find the real "Seinfeld" apartment building. I will acquire a T-shirt that just says "The Beach." I will get judged for not being cool and detached enough. I will fall in love for a couple of minutes and ponder relocating. I will realize that I would miss the change of seasons and my pet sunflower too much. I will come home with a sunburned nose and blisters from walking barefoot on wet sand. I will be a tourist without apology, but I won't go to Universal, Disney or Hollywood. I will avoid sports. I will channel James Elroy and Mickey Spillane and Quentin Tarantino.
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| "Please don't leave me! I promise to return next August!" |
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