kalischild

Last night, after a brief nap, and having had less than an hours sleep the night before, I was summoned across the bridge into the will-o-the-wisp lights and deserted streets of Berkeley at the request and behest of two of the beautiful, wonderful women I consider the core of my developing posse.

We sat in their apartment, drinking black cherry vodka cocktails, and talking of predators, fashion, and the exquisite stupidity of boys.

It was neat.

Then the time came to leave. Hugs were given, an offer postponed, and Indigo slid out into the night; alone, and warm, and pure.

Always searching, always hunting; being a beacon by the very fact of his existence.

-o-

And as I rode down I-80, I saw the fog-shrouded bridge with it's
string of fairy lights arcing towards The City. And I remembered years ago telling myself that that particular view would be what told me that I was coming home.

Ive been away for a long, long time.

Sometimes, recently, I feel so happy to be back in my own head that it makes me as breathless as good sex.