absinthe

California California. When I touch down in SFO I feel this great sigh of relief. I think that i am sort of a California ex pat who wants to visit now and then. She's not my style but she makes me miss her.
He said, "I'm thinking about going away."
"where?"
what a question. Away is a place after all.

My little voyage made me more stir-crazy than ever, I think. The girls and I went to a creepster antique furniture store and found a quide book to "non tourist SanFrancisco" from 1958. It told us where to find the Bohemians and to live like the Beatniks. There is a map on the back. Maybe in late 50's Bohemia I will find someone who doesn't need the labels, the safitsfation-guaranteed-or-your-money-back to love me freely.

Of course those free-love creeps are the guys that like to write poems about you and then leave you on the curb for someone with darker shades. I suppose that's why the name Absinthe [bohemian killer] is so appealing.

Who's going to take me on a Lolita-esque road trip around the United States? Can we make it to Mexico?
I'm also accepting applications for a stalker/lawman to follow us in a red sportscar.