This post is amazing. It reminds me of when I used to walk to school in the early morning, the sun barely rising, the light mixing with the pollution of the city, and I realized that moments like those were God’s honest truth and I knew the meaning of life even if I couldn’t explain it to someone else. I also freaked out a little bit about how wonderful the frosting and sky metaphor is. It is the kind of phrase that makes my heart hurt, but in a good way.
I want to talk about Tuesday, when I was walking to a party. It was a nice night, a clear one with a couple of stars poking through. The deep blue black of the night here always reminds me of frosting for some reason, like I could dip my finger into it and taste it.
So it was a frosting color sky and I was walking somewhere in the Upper or Lower Haight, where the houses are so beautiful they make you want to barf and I was walking with my layers on – at least two or three for posterity, and I was strapped into my backpack – as one needs to be because otherwise there’s no guarantee your backpack couldn’t just fall right off – and I was wearing my tennies because those are my street shoes and play shoes and everything was normal.
Maybe I took a…
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