There is a feeling I get sometimes when I'm with very old friends or with my closest kin in which they bring up old stories that I'd forgotten. An afternoon I spent lost in some distant island, the hiking of a small mountain through mists so thick we were virtually blind, the numerous times I've been attacked by mokeys (in pretty much every continent by now), threatened by dealers (in pretty much every continent, too) or the happy conversation we struck with the fucked up, doped-out wretched creature who was trying to rob us.
I'm not going to be coy about this, it's a good feeling. It strikes a chord in my broken harp.
It reminds me that I have forgotten more adventures than many people will get to live. I'm okay with that.
I'm not going to be coy about this, it's a good feeling. It strikes a chord in my broken harp.
It reminds me that I have forgotten more adventures than many people will get to live. I'm okay with that.
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