Nearly 6 years ago now, my friend and former housemate Zan Truman stepped in some spilled orange paint at the corner of Fillmore and some other street and loped down the sidewalk. The other day I noticed that her orange footprints are still there.
On 9/9/99 I turned twenty.
I'm going to Santa Cruz on the train to relax and go hiking. And go to a spa. And got to a lagoon and do who knows what else. We plan on staying in a seedy motel.
I'm still reading Jean Rhys, but am about to start as well the sad-sounding memoir of Guy Debord, Panegyric.
In the meantime, above are a scant amount of photos I took while walking for many miles the other day through the summer-hot city in search of Siouxsie and the Banshees albums.
Today is going to be excellent.