For the better part of the past week I’ve been dealing with an outrageous and infuriating situation with my landlord. Long story short, it involves a furry, uninvited guest. i’ve been furious about the whole ordeal. And this is too of the Voting Rights Act being gutted.
I’ve been desperately clinging to memories of small and very beautiful moments to keep me somewhat sane. Is it escapist? Sure. But we’re all doing the best we can to get by. So, I’ve dreaming of standing on the banks of Lake Osisko chatting with a new friend about the various circumstances that brought us to a small Quebec mining town — for a music festival; of walking a snow covered Montréal in mid-November; of sitting in an airplane, staring at clouds over Quebec; of late night revelry in Amsterdam; of sunsets over the German countryside, just outside Frankfurt; of finally seeing the mighty Mississippi River, en route to Dallas-Fort Worth Airport . . .
Today though, Rockaway Beach: The smell of seawater and sand. The sun setting at the shore. Only a handful of locals and a sleepy sense of quiet for a few more weeks. So a few random scenes from a chilly May evening on the boardwalk.
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