At least as far as the work goes. Sporadic, a week of sheer mind numbing boredom and then a weeks worth of work all crammed into one day but then you are alive you have purpose you have meaning, you flow. Always the tourists which they tell you are not as good as the tourists of days gone by. On the package trip not spending a dime. Ain't sellin' like he used to. New tourist old tourist they're still in your fuckin' way and asking for directions to things you don't go to."Is the coffee good here?" There are five fuckin' places to buy espresso within a block, this one has a line. " 'Moose on the lose' what a cute T-shirt" Not when you've seen it go down baby, saw an old man stomped to death outside of UAA. Welcome to Anchorage, enjoy your stay, now get the fuck out of my way. You hover between the madness of too much and not enough. Summer is a bummer. Summer when the dark demons come by for a beer, to kind of hang out and chat put on some tunes and eat all your snacks. Yet , summer is so beautiful it hurts. I should take off from work leave it to the wannabes and fixter/hipsters and spare myself the up and down joyride to madness, just trying to hang-on until the snow falls. Summer when you have to much time to think about the thing you do and when it's slow you ask yourself. Why? And when it's busy, when you have more things to deliver then you have time, when it seams someones said to at least half the drivers. "Kill him but try to make it look like an accident. When your mind and body hurt from the things you did on that road slicing, dicing, weaving with a godlike grace doing things that you cannot describe, when you have to have a few just so you can go home and be a human being to the wife and kitten. Then the answer is all to clear. That you were born to this life, this is what God made you for and who are you to deny the will of your creator. Until then sit, have a smoke and a double shot of espresso. Wait, to live again.
"My Dad's in there he's like God to me. My gods in there he's like a Dad to me. 'Well give him all your cigarettes.' They said and he did time and got raped by guards and prisoners and knifed and kicked the shit out of and went in a hole for five months, three weeks and did not cry for nine years which is almost a million" Steven Jesse Bernstein When I can talk about this I will but until then here's a little song.
Feel the pavement when you bounce from it, hear the engine of a car roaring behind you, answer the static coming from your two-way, embrace the corner of the box that craves your spine while you´re carrying it in your bag, taste the cold and yet sweet taste of beer when it sparkles in your mouth.