|The sign says "Good Brew Coffee Shop"|
Crap coffee, friendly service. This place was an act of desperation, I've been trying to find somewhere to write these inane ramblings.
I'm currently sharing a table with these French people who proudly shared their inner-monologue about me, when their camera didn't work I and couldn't take the photo, idiot was one of the words they used, and they weren't that far off the truth – but they don't know me as well as I do, so I thought they were rude, but they are smoking and I will have the last laugh without coughing up black bile and phlegm in about 50 years time. Ha-ha!
Also, one of the troubles situating yourself near a tourist trap, you get trapped from that feeling of escape/freedom as every accent "Allo Guv'nor", "bonjour, tu baises idiot", "hallo, du Idiot Englisch" brings you straight back home, though any freedom in the US Somehow feels oxymoronic on a whole as an outside looking in.
It's probably no different anywhere else, just people being people, doing their best to get some food in the fridge and stay out of the hospital. I have a feeling this thought may change about The States, we'll see. I'll probably end up in prison as I conclude it's free.
Aww, now that's cute. A mother calling their child "Offspring" - "Offspring, offspring, c'om' 'ere"
Jet-lag still bringing me to sleep at 8pm and awaking me at 8am, 12 hours sleep, what the hell? No one needs that much and no one needs to get up that early, fucking ridiculous, I got loads of chilling to do awake, I can't waste it asleep.
Actually I have work to do, but an hour into it I gave up and went for a 10 mile walk on the beach from Montana Ave to Marina del Rey and around. I like to meditate every so often but nothing relaxes and clears your head more than walking by the ocean's edge on the sand, towards the sun, watching everyone getting on with their morning routine, which mainly seems to consist of running, sunbathing and surfing – everyone smiling and saying "hi!"
I may give this running on the beach a go, though it seems to be either muscle-bound Jason Bourne wannabes or super-old weather beaten snakes and despite the 60 year age gap they both run at 0.2 MPH, they're so slow, they still run faster than me though as I'm yet to do any. I can only imagine I'll leave wakes and craters in the sand from the sheer velocity of my majestic sprinting on the sand.
Composed: Sean's Café, Venice Beach