dego

I just came from Tucson, which is like a museum for ugly people. Screaming children, tired white trash, various disgusting dregs of humanity sitting around waiting for flights.

Then I roll into San Diego. I used to live here in my early teens, but I was apparently too young to appreciate it. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE here is hot. Someone remind me why I don't live here.

I'm sitting outside in the middle of December in short sleeves, surrounded by palm trees. The girl that I let use my cell phone is waiting for her friends to arrive, playing a song for me on her guitar. The air smells like Seaport Villiage, where I used to fly kites and buy magic tricks from small shops. Coming in over the port, I could see people riding bikes along grassy paths, aircraft carriers sitting in the water, and long public beaches. People who meet my eye pause and smile. Somewhere in this city my buddy Chad is probably sitting, drinking pearl tea, typing on his laptop and picking up insanely hot SDSU girls. I might give him a ring, but my layover is only an hour.

Ah well. Back to San Jose soon.