May 4th

I left work stoned. Smoked a spliff with the bartender before I left the restaurant. Good herbs. Ever so determined to rescue my bike I focused only on that as I rushed to its location. My poor old Peugeot road bike locked up alone at Mission and 20th... been there for three days being rained on. Felt good to see it when I arrived. Somehow I new it would be there so I wasn't too ecstatic, but just "good". It was raining, but i did not ride... I felt good. The rain was soft, it tickled my skin. I thought of her sleeping alone and if she missed me there holding her. The bus passed, but I did not think to ride, I felt strong and the rain wasn't soaking me and no wind gave me chills. The ocean breeze gave will to gentle rain drops that poked my skin like a thousand tiny fingers and whispers making me feel alive, undone and un-alone. There, walking after midnight towards downtown on the Mission. A mission to get me home, but not my home. Still haven't found it and I let myself to ease since I foretell it to be a long journey full of many words away... until I find peace. Not to mention you tend to get more wet when you ride when the drops hit you at a faster rate. Take it easy they tell me... stop trying so hard, let life have its way, don't fight it. I will give you just enough to carry, enough burden that you can can bare and push through. Then I thought of her again and wondered if my text messages were really lame earlier? Did I lose some chance to connect with her because of degenerate vocabulary? Perhaps I'm just stoned?