Twentysomething

Beneath the balcony, the orchestral sounds of honks, beeps, screeches, skids, taps, groans, cries, whistles... knocks and rumbles and mumbles and songs – short and long, bursts of colors and smells – swelled.  Same instruments, but a different tune than New York.

Black & white soldiers attack and defend and scout in platoons and teams and solo and heroic maneuvers with each dice roll. Snake eyes. Twins.  Triple threat. Coming of the Beast. The more I play, the more obsessed I get...

Earth melded onto rocks, rocks perched atop pillars carved from fire, fire molded valleys into undulating folds, like, dare I say it, labia tissue of Mother Earth. It's an eerie landscape, something out of a B-movie.

Bravo. Fantastic.

Couple of grenades tossed into a Turkish cafe in Izmir – about two weeks from where I was on this jaunt. Ah. Where next? Fun times.

I spent the last two days on the beach: white pebbles trickling into a multi-hued sea.  In the mornings, I hitched a ride out with one of the pension boys to the shore, about two kilometers outside of town, set up my umbrella and beach chair and fall asleep to the sounds of Jump Little Children.