It’s August Now. Some might say this summer’s been a rip off but I rest assured I got my money’s worth. I’ve been living here for a little over a month. I’ve worked my ass off, renovating it back to health, in exchange for rent and so much more. For piece of mind reasons of what friendship is all about. Buddies helping buddies. I’ve drank a lot more beer, smoked a lot more herb, and eaten a lot more sushi than I probably ever have. But I’ve also got a lot more accomplished, a lot more figured out about where I’m heading in life. This is only a springboard.
With only 7 weeks remaining until I plan on leaving London again I’ve taken a good look around and realized some sentimental things. Aside from Flan, I may be the last of a solid line of good friends that have lived here throughout the years. It seems as if everyone has made their mark on this house in one way or another. My favorite is the black futon with the bent frame, on which I sleep. This uncomfortable hunk of tossing n’ turning was once a fine piece of furniture that belonged to Jeff Darling. It was purchased with a white furry rug to compliment it. He was going with the black/white motif for his pad out in Burnaby B.C. I remember waking up face down on that rug after nights at the Roxy-Burg. The fuckin’ thing shed more than a dog and I always had to pick the fur out of my mouth and dreads. I don’t know what happened to it, but somehow the futon ended up back here. I’m glad it did. On the nights it won’t let me sleep I stay up and write and every thought or memory that I can spill out makes me feel better about every aspect of life. As long as these words are here for someone to read. Even if its’ only me. A back up plan for amnesia, Alzheimer’s, and/or if I should sell out. I may never grow up but eventually, I’ll grow old and with a boat load of hope n’ determination I won’t make too many compromises so that when I read this later on down the road it’ll still be the same person doing the writing.
It's almost time to move again. We've done our part here. Left some scars n' holes and then patched em' up for the next onslaught. This house, at the dead end of Cambridge street looks better than it ever has, all dressed up and ready to ball with tenants. The Flan Man just got it rented out this Tuesday. And so, like the last season of your favorite show, we’re counting down the days n’ the episodes left until we say that famous “last line” and walk out the door.
