The cops have set up a DUI checkpoint just a few blocks from here but it's OK. I've got nowhere to go and just enough Negra Modelo to get sleepy listening to the Mystic Valley Band. Monday I'll leave my little spot at Poet's Corner in Berkeley where I've been for two years for the attic apartment of a hippie spot in San Rafael. Nothing left in here but this card table and my folding chair. A single book where the nightstand used to be.
San Rafael is just a pause in my departure, a four-month layover to squeeze out a little more time editing coffee table books. Maybe it'll be just enough of a move to shake the grass, loose some writing, index some feelings.
What am I looking forward to? Crappy coffee on the walk to work, riding my bike in the headlands, Sundays in the garden full of non-invasive weeds.