There is this funny look left behind after this sad depart from heart of cloud. Leaving is the story of my life. This morning I departed from my home, my bed, my street, my coffee shop. I arrived to the airport so late. I hate me. I fell asleep for the first time. 5 am took a taxi. Demand to the taxi driver taking the La Cienega Blvd. While in the taxi battling with the airline people fixing my ticket, I hate flying in the middle of the winter out of Los Angeles. When there is great weather begging for me to stay I don't even look back, easily packed my everything in ten to fifteen minutes. I know I'm late for something. I know I'm late to feel again. I passed through the roof tops while leaving Los Angeles. Mexican town lost in American continentant. On the plain I was worrying about if I'm going to make it to my later flight 4: 45 pm made a big mistake. All I made was to New York. Over the Pacific Ocean. Pacific Ocean was frozen. Turbulences after turbulence as if we shook the hands of God. Maybe God shooked the plain of the clouds with scare. Or pilot was high. My connecting flight took off without me. The story of my life. I'm in the jungle of New York somewhere between china town and 55th and 2nd Ave. Streets are ice cold. Everything shrinks down to size zero here. Thai restaurant was nice. No appetite of love or life. Something’s leaving my soul without giving me the notice. This heart should not be this cold. This life should not be this dull. I'm between adopting a pet or a kid. I live far, far out of my mind these days. Touch me' this is the last take we will have before my departure.
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