September 4, 2011

This is unlike any previous visit to Santa Cruz.
Every other day I drive over the mountains into the concrete jungle of the East Bay. I perform tasks that I hate and would avoid doing at any cost. But not at the cost of this collection.
I find my way through unfamiliar neighborhoods in East Oakland, I badger the cutter to rush the order, I haggle over prices with sewers, I call their bluff when they tell me a big order is coming next week and if I want their services I will have to pay a higher price, I make five stops a day and get stuck for hours in rush-hour traffic on the way home. Twice I have cried and when my face has remained dry it was because I was dry on the inside.
Who am I right now? I can’t wait to be someone else. Someone that walks to the ocean and does the breaststroke out to the buoy.


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