A nice house with a big yard--a treehouse in the back that's hidden in the branches year round. One you could sit in and just smoke all day long, while staring at the clouds race across the sky. Dig? Maybe some gardens along the edge of the yard--some flowers, a lot of strawberries and tomatoes. The kind of grass would be that really dark, thick-bladed kind. The one that you pick in the summer and place between your thumbs, then press your lips against it and make that noise.
Being able to go up on the roof is more important than having a good porch. There's nothing like late nights when you sit out on the porch and look at the sky [doesn't matter if you can see the stars, or simply thnk the lights from airplanes are stars between all of the lamp posts]--drinking some kiwi lime mad dog and smoking an authentic cubano for the first time, inhaling when you're not supposed to and singeing your insides black.
The summer was really nice and I wish I could go back to it. There's nothing like working forty hours a week, turning 21 and being able to do AIESEC as much as possible. Living across the street from trainees is probably one of the best things I could have done--you know, beside living in that house with all foreign men. France, Costa Rica and Mexico. I miss all the French kids smoking the hookah and coming home to a porch with twenty plus Europeans and misc. others.
Summer is the thing that dreams are made of.
The problem with public journals: you can never say what you're really thinking. sometimes.
Being able to go up on the roof is more important than having a good porch. There's nothing like late nights when you sit out on the porch and look at the sky [doesn't matter if you can see the stars, or simply thnk the lights from airplanes are stars between all of the lamp posts]--drinking some kiwi lime mad dog and smoking an authentic cubano for the first time, inhaling when you're not supposed to and singeing your insides black.
The summer was really nice and I wish I could go back to it. There's nothing like working forty hours a week, turning 21 and being able to do AIESEC as much as possible. Living across the street from trainees is probably one of the best things I could have done--you know, beside living in that house with all foreign men. France, Costa Rica and Mexico. I miss all the French kids smoking the hookah and coming home to a porch with twenty plus Europeans and misc. others.
Summer is the thing that dreams are made of.
The problem with public journals: you can never say what you're really thinking. sometimes.
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