Dolores Park around noon

My day began pretty normal. Wake up, eat cereal, pull on jeans, call in sick to work and head to Dolo. Turns out my roommate (that lackluster ass-hat, dirty water, dick-lipped, anti-poon waste of sexual organs and air) decided to break up edibles in my cereal in hopes that I would eat it and then go to work super high.

It worked, I was high. Really high. So high I could taste colors and touch emotions. Up was happiness and left was pink. But, unlike the joyful acceptance that comes from willingly doing drugs, un-willingly doing them is much different. I didn't know how I got high, which lead me to think I was having a stroke or that I had died and this was some weird limbo. Ultimately I decided that I was still dreaming. This was a mistake.

Accepting the fact that I was lucid dreaming, I got half naked and pissed myself while running down Guerrero street (don't judge me). I arrived at the park with a half eaten Mexi-pop and 1 can of PBR (if you know how I got these things please let me know and if I robbed a store, I'm sorry and I will repay you.) I saw you almost immediately and tried to make my move. You were beautiful. Eyes more beautiful than a tinfoil wrapped Cancun super burrito and skin graffitied like a side street mural. I would go vegan, fair-trade, local, organic for you. But, things didn't work out in my favor. As I approached to drop my finest pick-up lines, I tripped. I must have hit my head on a rock because I woke up in the grass facedown and you were gone. If you remember seeing a clumsy boy knock himself out, I'd love to take you to dinner at Gracias Madre. Also, if you know who went through my pockets while I was unconscious I would really appreciate that too. I'm missing an iPod filled with Celine Dion's greatest hits.

Always,
Joseph


Thank you Kevin for sending me this.