Bring Me A Higher Love

I set my alarm last night for the first time in months, and, right on time at 3:40 a.m. this morning, my Super Shuttle driver showed up in true Los Angelean form to take me to the airport - "Bring Me A Higher Love" by Steve Winwood was playing, and it is officially the opening song to the soundtrack of this adventure. It's 3:40 in the morning, and I'm bringing me a higher love.

We just picked up a girl in Silverlake who is heading to Portugal.

(To be continued)...

Today was bananas. Somehow 3 one-way flights required me to remove my shoes 4 times, and my compensation for this was one fig newton? If I weren't riding on 27 minutes of sleep in the past 48 hours, I would elaborate more, but it will have to wait. In a cram, here's the backdrop of this exhibition; to buy an old Mercedes wagon in Corvallis, Oregon, then, listen to my soul to guide me home. So far my soul has told me Oregon is poor and weird, and old ladies who smoke are brilliant, both of which I already knew. But, my previous rule that old men who wear plaid have life all figured out, has sadly acquired an exception. Good night.

Oh, I now have an open invite to Portugal and Spain, which I am moderately considering since I have declined four thousand other invites of the recent past. Good night.

(To be continued)...