Incense, sandalwood, and a half lit cigarette rest by the window in the bedroom of my new apartment. Soft rain drops in small intervals. The air is sultry. It’s heat, soil, and salt. It’s the promise of a new summer. Late nights turn into magnum colored dawns. Unfamiliar faces slowly smile. I pour my sixth cup of gin. Pangs of love-gone-by still prick somewhere deep inside from time to time, but followed without regret. I’ve let go, but I’m not quiet sure I’m ready to move on, just yet. The hot summer is wide open. I only have to walk out the door.
Everyone seems busy, tired, and a little lonely, myself included. I’ve caught the summer by the tail end. July has sprung into action and my bathing suit has been nothing but dry. I’ve joined this club everyone who hates their job goes to after work, it’s called the bar. I never saw myself gaining the habit, but I guess getting older does that to you, like a lot of things. I’m not sure where all of this is going, I guess I just want to begin putting some things on here that are a little more personal. My grandfather has come home, he’s swearing, maybe he’s drunk? Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, I live with my eighty-five year old grandfather in an old victorian house. It’s a long story, but not as quiant as many would imagine. Either way I have to get ready now. There is work to be done tomorrow and I still have to get to the club.