the last night of a vacation is always a strange one, I can’t complain about a thing, the office left me alone (mostly), the universe provided a spot, the weather, all of it really, the amazing confluence of the universe, but some how still, I feel like a crowd of strangers crashed the party at the end, for most of the week I have been able to dodge it, skulking about the edges and corners of the town, haunting nearly forgotten (or just not well known) beaches and refuges, returning nightly to a nearly empty (albeit on the ocean) hotel, I prefer the solitude in order to decompress, you might never know this, to talk to me that is, I usually light up the room, like a wily wild experienced entertainer, I can read eyes and minds, and like a magician I weave my words into superstition and illusion, slight of mind I suppose, everyone has their pillars, both to hold and to look imposing from most angles, but I do not always want to perform, not these days, not vacation days, I am here to unplug, there will be plenty of days to banter away but that switch is so on ‘off’ this evening, I dread negotiating for a seat at one of my favorite restaurants here, the anticipation every year… seafood pot pie, I can not explain the devilish grin that pops in my head and lights on fire all my senses just thinking about it, just the mass of people between me and that, I understand the economics, but that does not always check my inner selfish at the door (selfish for shellfish? perhaps), can’t I be self serving sometimes? well, at least in my inner monologue, as usual my concerns are probably overblown, but I won’t know until later, I’m on the porch at the hotel, above the pool, ocean view, close enough to hear the surf, not at the moment, four floors below the outdoor bar is a roar, one hundred conversations and I am a part of none, a couple of my fellow hotel fellows are flanked out on their porches, absorbed in their own worlds as well, the streets seem to be swelling with passer byes, and the clamor of horse drawn carriages (yes, they have those here), and a trolly, old time bicycle bells ringing, mounted to baskets above the front rims, bikes all dressed in those made for summer or the tropics, pastels, the colors that tend to fade quickly from neon birthing, ‘american pie‘ the one man band at the bar took the request, then joined in jam with a harmonica player who happened to be on hand, my cynical side smells a setup but I am enjoying the vibe besides anyway, I bathe in the utter familiarity of it all, not a song I would normally choose but hard to argue with in this open air sunny beach venue, all just seems to strum the right mood, and I look left, glad no one is using the hot tub, that thing, that beast is loud, I can only imagine being in it knowing the volume it shoots up, before the pandemic, this time of year, this place was more dead than alive, or maybe just in hibernation, I don’t think some things will ever be the same, good, bad or different, my concentration wanders back to the bar tops below, I wonder about each set, table, couples and the like, stories I never heard or never will, lives crossing right through my latitude, like astral bodies set to collide but never meeting, enough to lock eye-to-eye, I almost want to intrude but not be an intruder, the singer at the bar then breaks into “I want to grow old with you” from a movie I can relate to, I am oddly… moved.

showing my age… ah… who cares… I think I will post some photos next, I had an interesting week here in my home state… visiting little beaches up the coast, or down the coast, as it were… stay tuned, or not, I will post anyway, but thanks for any and all looks, until next time…