or we could get so far up in the south that it didn't even seem like the south anymore.
around those mountains up near the ash town.
but let's do something different. just because we can.
i have the northwest in mind for foggy and damp days and tiny, cozy homes with christmas lights all year. i would make sweet tea often.
we could have friends over for olive oil, garlic and crusty bread. with flowers and candles on the table. when they left, we would make a song and finish the coffee and chocolate tasting beer and creep around in the dark until we find each other next to the wood stove and slide into a quilted bed. all of our furniture would come from rich old ladies' garage sales.
there'd be a studio attached, or in one of the back rooms so business would go uninterrupted. we could get part time jobs at record or book stores. i'd take bass lessons. we'd have a tv, but wouldn't turn it on.
the film people from the institute and i would and go on excursions to the tidepools. i'd come back with reels of footage and sand dollars and pinecones in my pockets. you would chop wood for the fire and fix your bike up and make music with your friends. you'd use the dark room and smell like chemicals all day, but you'd have so many good shots turn out, you wouldn't care. if you were so inclined, you would visit one of the myriad strip clubs on the corners of the southeast side of town. you would take a polaroid of a stripper's boobs, and give it to me later that day. "thank you for the souveneir." I would say and I'd put it in a second hand frame.
we would laugh about the blueberries you grabbed from some hippie co-op and put them on cornmeal lemon pancakes. then we'd make mobiles out of sticks and sand dollars and pinecones and hang them above the sink in the kitchen. i will have fed our giant black cat or dog what was left of the bird from last night, and attach a tiny wishbone with string to the mobile.
there'd be a garden out back. i would grow sage, peas, black eyed susans, basil, and roses. i would make a gross compost pile. i'd cut up clothes that were too small and use them as colorful flags to keep birds away.
we would go to parties on people's back porches on the weekends. they'd have houses with chipped paint, too. we would network and meet all kinds of interesting mother fucks. people who read. people who write. people in bands (and everyone is in a band.) people who make things. and people who do nothing but drink and trip and hang out under the cities' bridges.
from them we would (on occasion) procure certain drugs, which we would do after we got back home, and put on an edith piaf record. we'd look at a book of picasso's blue period and read sad pablo naruda poems until they made us laugh.
the windowpanes would always be spiderwebbed with rain drops.
and the bed would always be warm.