I write to you from Jack Early Park. Another beautiful step garden buried within complex San Francisco. The steps lead to a lookout, from which you can view both the Golden Gate, and the Bay Bridge. The latter of which is a recent addition to the city, I have been informed, and it makes for a truly breathtaking scene from North Beach. I just finished eating a mint, given to me by a beautiful blue eyed women. A women I miss very much. I write from a garden trestled with life, bombarded by sights anew, plethorated inwardly I am, about to burst and about to boil.
Time is big. You just won’t believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is.
I continue this article writing to you from the Green Tortoise Hostel. I arrived back here quite some time ago, and have since been shown the wonder of pistachios seasoned with pepper. My friend Ofir showed me this marvel, and he has shifted to the dark side in doing so; pepper pistachios for life.
It is now the next day; breakfast at the Green Tortoise. Happy Birthday to Virginia Woolf. This morning I am listening to Rumspringa straight out of my computer speakers, as I am the only one in the ballroom. Also the device set to provide music for the ballroom has been failing in surplus as of recently. If my boss had not left for Florida last week, I may propose to him a solution to this problem. Invariably, I will still produce a solution to this problem, as the guests speak to me oft on the subject: They want music!
I am eating leftover scones again (still breakfast this time). I call myself a sconer because eat so many scones; tbh I pretty much get sconed every day. *I just dropped the remainder of my scone
in my coffee* Big mess. No matter what I do, bad or good, I’m under the impression the hostelites around me believe it to be the American Standard; does it even matter if I clean the coffee? Maybe I’ll be easier to remember if I don’t clean the coffee. I have my HeartofZeus.com shirt on, so I want them to remember me.