over a perfectly poured guinness he tells me he can't believe i'm here.
that it doesn't feel real.
he says i look half empty without kesey at my feet.
he cried and held me the same way he did the afternoon i left the plains, like i was about to say goodbye.
i ripped a dylan quote and told him all i could do is be me, whoever that is.
he laughed, finished his beer, went after my king and put me in checkmate.
sometimes i just want to disappear and let go for a few months. live out of the volkswagen and travel, well, whenever i get jetta back.
