sigh. boulder is lovely my friends, just lovely. people are friendly, the grass is green and the girls...oh oh its good (spoken with a heavy heavy brazilian accent. for all you whole foods people, you know that Lewch is the light of my life).
i don't much want to talk about leaving the bay area as it was really tough leaving my friends (new and old) and especially hard saying goodbye to my family. my little brother sobbed in my arms before i got in the car which made me cry until i hit the richmond bridge. there was a certain permanence about leaving my parents house this time that felt really strange. it made me hope (though it sounds weird saying it) that i might live with them again in the future.
the drive here was also unspeakably shitty. i hit traffic right out the gate in pinole, ca (who knew?...that it existed that is), battled my way into the mountains, and made my first stop in the godforsaken hellhole called Reno Nevada. after giving away a quick hundred bucks to some degenerate maggots with gray complexions at the poker table , i felt so low that i contemplated grabbing any trashy looking broad named Brandi with straw colored hair and making an early retirement to the nearest motel. but i trod on, brothers and sisters, and left Reno NV in the dust, literally.
Somewhere in eastern nevada or western utah, cracked out on three or four red bulls, my gas tank was getting dangerously low. this is a brand new car (for me that is, just a '94) mind you, and i have yet to compile any data as to how far you can ride a 4runner into the paint. sweating and coasting and sweating and more coasting, i made it to a small desert oasis. here i filled up on gas and red bull, all the while being mean mugged by some lowlife piece of shit sitting at a slot machine (at a gas station remember) wearing wranglers, a cowboy shirt and an oddly gray complexion. i can sorta understand though, i must have looked mighty strange dressed as i was: zero nascar apparel, lacking of the obligatory tight jean shorts and reebok hightops, and barefoot. where ever you are old man, i truly hope that playing gas station slots isn't on your agenda every night at 1am.
the Firm by john Grisham on CD got me to Salt Lake that night and all the way to boulder the next day. it was a shitty book but good enough to keep me mildy interested for the duration of the drive. hey, it was between that or listen to a recording of grapes of wrath as performed by the cleaveland theater company, with original score and everything
. thanks Mill Valley public library for your plethora of stories available on CD.
this is all i have in me for now. i love you all
nate
i don't much want to talk about leaving the bay area as it was really tough leaving my friends (new and old) and especially hard saying goodbye to my family. my little brother sobbed in my arms before i got in the car which made me cry until i hit the richmond bridge. there was a certain permanence about leaving my parents house this time that felt really strange. it made me hope (though it sounds weird saying it) that i might live with them again in the future.
the drive here was also unspeakably shitty. i hit traffic right out the gate in pinole, ca (who knew?...that it existed that is), battled my way into the mountains, and made my first stop in the godforsaken hellhole called Reno Nevada. after giving away a quick hundred bucks to some degenerate maggots with gray complexions at the poker table , i felt so low that i contemplated grabbing any trashy looking broad named Brandi with straw colored hair and making an early retirement to the nearest motel. but i trod on, brothers and sisters, and left Reno NV in the dust, literally.
Somewhere in eastern nevada or western utah, cracked out on three or four red bulls, my gas tank was getting dangerously low. this is a brand new car (for me that is, just a '94) mind you, and i have yet to compile any data as to how far you can ride a 4runner into the paint. sweating and coasting and sweating and more coasting, i made it to a small desert oasis. here i filled up on gas and red bull, all the while being mean mugged by some lowlife piece of shit sitting at a slot machine (at a gas station remember) wearing wranglers, a cowboy shirt and an oddly gray complexion. i can sorta understand though, i must have looked mighty strange dressed as i was: zero nascar apparel, lacking of the obligatory tight jean shorts and reebok hightops, and barefoot. where ever you are old man, i truly hope that playing gas station slots isn't on your agenda every night at 1am.
the Firm by john Grisham on CD got me to Salt Lake that night and all the way to boulder the next day. it was a shitty book but good enough to keep me mildy interested for the duration of the drive. hey, it was between that or listen to a recording of grapes of wrath as performed by the cleaveland theater company, with original score and everything
. thanks Mill Valley public library for your plethora of stories available on CD.
this is all i have in me for now. i love you all
nate
VIEW 9 of 9 COMMENTS
theraccoon:
And I am not kidding.
theraccoon:
Psyche. I was kidding the whole time.