all of the 28th's, of every month (happy birthday twin)

happy birthday tater, sister twin soul, through the thin and very fucking thick. tater and i have a time machine; every time i sit in her car we trigger it - i do my thing, and she does hers, we can travel anywhere. here we are at ocean beach, the western most part of san francisco, the most blustery, the greyest, the coldest. there was a black man stretching towards the breakers, and a black umbrella smashed and resting on top of the sand. there are always ecstatic dogs half wet and half dry slobbering on their green-yellow tennis balls running back and forth like happy idiots, and san franciscans, couples, or runners, old folk like in coney island, milling about, keeping to themselves...the rest of the day was filled with happy details that would mean even less to you than the above, and mean more to me if i could keep in the treasure chest inside.