Wednesday, January 18, 2017

One Helluva Place to Park.

I didn't sleep more than a couple of hours. I was up late, and I didn't make it home. I crashed in an RV after an incredibly silly evening. I woke up on some cushions all covered in sun.

I rode a bicycle to my home at a high rate of speed. Instead of working, I planned to have fun. Instead of sleeping, I took an increasingly rare Adderall, then I drove to my daytime spot. One friend has taken to calling this the "Gypsy Village." Maybe next year, they can print that on the maps.

At the morning meeting, I made myself coffee. A couple friends joined me where my van meets the world. Perched in a circle while I heated the water, we discussed yesterday and the day ahead. I am going to learn how to fish. First I need to eat eggs. They will resume progress on the usual projects. The weed has already been lit.

The village has many in attendance. The tribe has a little bit of everyone. A couple of people have their setups in pickups, with bed covers and windows obscured. Some clean-cut young couples arrive in spectacular vans - sometimes they stay, and sometimes they run. Some folks here have dreadlocks and beards. Some others look like they just left the office. Some of these setups are makeshift; some began life with a plan from the start. We have a couple of grandpas in ancient RVs. We have a couple of people who curl up in cars. Some people here will talk and play music. Others are reserved and aloof.

I am in the exact center of every aspect here I can think of. I am almost the precise median in this group. I am the second little piggy - and I'll state here for the record, the threats of most wolves are a bluff.

Our bond in this lot is our destination - and choosing shelters which sit above tires. Our bond is autonomy and simplicity - we are all here to follow the sun. Our shared mission performed as individuals is to spend winter away from the north. We park here between 7 and 11. Then we disappear to our individual spots.

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