la tuya in the booth - san pancho - dos mil ocho

i don't know when i will return to mission street or to any of its side streets to live, or if i will. i guess i knew that then, walking to, and walking from, and on saturday i always expected the same thing - i expected to see the same things, i expected to smell and hear the same things, i knew what i would do before i would do it, i knew it all and i still always wanted the same thing, and i wondered how long it would take until the streets ceased reminding me and would instead begin to be mine, new, now / then, the sun over there made perfect sense; it had its own hue and tone; attitude, as did the wind and the greyish rain and the sea salt residue; the palm trees swayed, keeping time, while i could not.