Let’s start over, like when a string snaps and you change all the strings of your guitar. Like that second year. Like a northwest flight. Or not. Like when you don’t have a helpsheet, but realise that you don’t need it.
In Santa Cruz they have warm weather all year round, and so time slips away without the seasons to mark them. Its insidious, you bum around and you realise you’ve spent years there.
I was sitting at my table and I heard you ask Dennis what it meant.
The glorious impracticality of it all, learning that a golden background was part of the style of the age. There was something on National Geographic about the a bishop overseeing the contruction of a church, and dying, and the people rebelling at having to pay the taxes for the contruction of the church. And when chartres was mentioned, to acknowledge it in your mind like a familiar face and keeping it to yourself makes it sweeter.
Cycling to video blockbuster to rent the machinist. Cutting across the road defying death. Not in single file. Stopping in the middle of a road before backtracking to take a turn. And telling me how its the second time they got your name wrong.