This high is heavy like the droopy gray sky of my early Tuesday morning: 09 de junio de 2015
This high is heavy like the droopy gray sky of my early Tuesday morning. The sound of the shower stirred me awake at seven, the sky a vast darkness, lightening from navy into a militant, ashy gray. I turned on the coffee pot and warm, dim lights. I welcomed a British trio to the hostel with my calm, morning voice, offering them tea and coffee.
Now, an old man with converse sneakers and wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose reads the newspaper on the bench next to mine in Paseo Sobremonte. I’m wearing cheap, faux leather boots and a giant scarf that’s been my traveling companion since I found it in the lost and found where I lived in London. I sip coffee from a beaten up traveling mug from REI and think about how the joint I smoked while walking here smoothed out all the wrinkles of anxiety in my subconsciousness. Although not a particularly fascinating or interesting high, I still felt something. I remind myself that everything is going to be okay.
It always is, in the end.