California Dreaming.


I lay my head down as California begins to sink in. Golden streets and afternoons in gardens made solely for the West Coast. Shorts and boy sweater combinations meant for cool nights and bodies lined with tattoos. It feels different, better different, free different, as liberal minds spill from every corner. I don’t know if I belong here, don’t know if I’ll stay but I wouldn’t mind it for a while. Wouldn’t mind roaming through night life scenes and climbing upon spoken word podiums spilling secrets of the East. I wouldn’t mind slowly strolling through Berkeley’s Bohemian settings as my hand grazes craft stands and I watch the meeting of minds all around me. Perched on the sidewalk almost statue like, I would take it all in while eating a chicken burrito from Picante on 6th street. It would just be me, and maybe I’d be meeting with friends later but I would bask in the solitude for that moment. I would reach into my Aztec print backpack, pull out my leather bound journal, and I would paint the most lovely picture that a person could with words, and when I was finally finished, I would wonder off into the night.


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