Where did I leave my bike last night?
Did I leave it at a bar? Did I leave it near or far?
Did I give it to a bum? Did I take it to buy rum?
Did I throw it off the cliff? Did I trade it for a spliff?
Did I ride to happy hour? Did I ditch it at Storke tower?
Did I drink too much and walk it? Did I even lock it?
Tomorrow’s Forecast: The rumors are true. Your bike will be “stolen” an average of three times during your stay here. Mostly on Thirsty Thursdays. Coincidence, to be sure.
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“dusty rusty crusty musty ass california hills”
“frowning in plaid (haunted radios, bird bones + anthropomorphized wind)”
“warming my hands on bridges i’ve burnt”
“songs that make me see god”
“My Playlist #236”
“classy wine moment and intellectual conversation”
“90s heroin chic model off duty”
“tweet tweet bird emoji map emoji”
“not my circus, not my monkeys”
“a grave is probably cheaper than an apartment”
“ATE THESE BITCHES LEFT NO CRUMBS / DID IT IN DESIGNER PUMPS”
