Things on my mind:

Wandering the streets without worry in a city that actually looks alive, standing behind artists whose work I’d love to touch and make my own, connecting with the people in this city that I feel I need to know. 

Riding the skyway across the river with a sun that dims in excitement for the night, a panda bear hat and a matching guitar. Words written in a guestbook - mi amor - on a second floor I’ve never visited in a building I’ve been in over and over. Rugs on the floor and on the wall, guitars in laps and smoke in the air. 

Fast new friends with flying fingers and dreamy atmospheres, our eyes are red but our noses clean. 

The humidity and hot collective sweat of bodies locked up tight in close quarters, the pull of breath. In. Out.

Rickety stairs and painted walls, chaos, music.

Feet meeting concrete with handfuls of golden beer in plastic cups, periodically filled up, and the swaying begins. Lured in by trombone blasting brazen and bold, dark faces hooking fingers through my soul.

Spirit animals. Connected and combined.

I swear the beer turned to wine when you lifted your fingers and swung your voice into mine.

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