123repeater

i love my dirty little city.
from the crumpled brick alleys to the ever changing crew of street crazies, i feel a bond with saint petersburg.
maybe it's because kerouac died here.
maybe his soul has invaded mine (i have been drinking a lot of scotch lately).
every night before i go to sleep, i partake in some herbal refreshments and go stand on my front porch, taking in the damp florida night air, almost more sweet than the pot smoke. i look out over rows of colorful old spanish style apartment homes, just old enough to be scarred and flawed, but beautiful in their imperfection at the same time. i wish i could see all their inhabitants over the years, see their exploits as if they were happening right now. i bet these old walls have stories to tell.
being from new york city, st. pete is the last place i ever thought i'd fall in love with, but i've become enamored with her ever since i moved here.
now if you'll excuse me, i have a date with my front porch.
(unless of course you'd like to join me.......)

"i'd go out tonight, but i haven't got a stitch to wear......"
the smiths, "this charming man"

cheers all.