Orlando
2:51am.
Coffee, a Trulieve chocolate drop, bustling about in the kitchen, gathering ingredients
for sweet potato chili. Set the crock pot on low for eight hours or four on high. You know the drill. Alexa playing old
Moody Blues stuff. Thinking about Brooke being gone, remembering a time we all
shared so many years ago. It seems I generally entertain the same memory points,
ones I’ve revisited for 50 years, the rest of it streaked and unclear, a dirty
window to a familiar but unspecific swirl. Another cosmos far, far away.
Maybe I’ll kick it up a notch, Oye Como Va! Images of you turned to the record player, bellbottom jeans sweeping an acrylic carpet made of orange sandpaper.
There was a cigarette machine at the bottom of our stairs. It came as a surprise to me recently when I realized that I hadn't seen one in years.
Peace & Love my friend...
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