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log burning fire
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there is a paper star illuminated by a 6o watt lightbulb hung inconspiciously on the front porch. i step to the door and knock.
"rap, rap," says the woodpecker knocker.
a very cool, old man comes to the door to welcome me, grey hairs in his goatee. he wears columbia beach sandals in the summer rain. his name is vichy.
i asked if the boys of robin hill were home. he said they were all in ibiza, even the girls.
he showed me the farm. we talked and it was all the shit. i was blown away by this dude's elegant descriptions.
he defined the elements of happiness. there were some i still needed. three hours later, we were all on holiday in spain.
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