The air feels cool and fresh.

Here, in the room where I’m typing this. Weston is sitting on the bed across from me, playing the guitar. I am listening to him play, in the quiet, and I feel happy. We just got back to the hostel – we took a trip to Longs to buy earplugs, in case anyone else in the room snores. We also bought milk duds, swedish fish, nerds rope, zours, and pink peeps. Weston bought peeps for me. He loves me more than he hates peeps.

We are at the point Montara lighthouse hostel, right up against the ocean, on Highway 1. I got up early today so I could go to work, finish the projects I needed to finish, and leave early. I was planning on leaving early to go out of town, but ended up leaving work even earlier in order to sing at a funeral. Weston and I (and another friend) were asked to sing together. The family requested the song Some Day, which I had never heard, but I found really moving. It makes me think about the fact that this man is now… somewhere else. He’s not nowhere. He’s just… not here anymore. And even though none of us know what it’s like, we’ll all have to go through it some day… every one. Ready or not.

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