I am keeping a helicopter view on the whole scene these days. I can see people moving around, they look like ants on the march- to Santos, to feed the chickens, to here. I can see the curvature of the Earth, and I can see around the corner into Summer 2009 a time long-remembered for the realization of great changes.

I woke a sleeping soldier in the Atlanta airport, I thought he was missing his flight. He mumbled he had just come from Iraq and he couldn’t stay awake. A dark-skinned 25 year-old American vet torturously curled in a chair designed to not welcome or accomodate the sleeping. This summer I hope to see exhausted soldiers scattered across the floors of airports, empty Cinnabon boxes at their feet.

As I tack about the country I nurse a bite on my eye from an Arizona bedbug, far preferable to I-75 traffic, but less appealing than a carne asada taco from Reyberto’s in Clairemont Mesa, CA. I want to ride my bike, but I can’t let go of my sheets. If I do I know I will just float away.

Maybe tomorrow,


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