In the Pacific, albeit an opposite end, lolling up against the city of Chandler, the trip begins.
The cold ocean rolls were good for the airplane funk, better for the session directly prior, and an impromptu canvas for the two body-surfing geniuses in their midst.
Reaching the terminus of the Great American Century, both spatially and temporally, California, somehow fits. I have no idea what is ahead of me and the ardent desire to redefine what is behind me (strictly spatial this time).
squinting out to the ocean, an archipelego,
'dude, this one wants tooo parrty'
flip. rinse. once more?
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vignettes from a year spent reporting from the future. Indonesia. and no parents.
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