A Writer's Bucket List

Golden Gate

I opened my eyes and tried to focus my vision. What the? I shot up from the bed, immediately getting dizzy. Aur was still asleep. a light groan escaped my lips. "The great Woodstock Inn" I whispered to myself. I walked over to the side of the bed. My phone was charging on the bureau. 5:07 I sighed. Slowly sitting back on the bed, trying not to make noise, I pulled out my duffle bag from under. The goddam toothbrush... Ah, gotcha! Making my way out the room, I realized the sun was already out. I walked into the restroom. The walls were a light shade of green, and the toilette and tub where spotless. Did they have some kind of maid that came in once a week or something? I looked in the massive mirror above the sink. My under eye circles looked more gruesome than usual, the pale blue color they normally were, were now a purple blue tone. My hair had calmed down a little. I walked back in Matt's room and attempted to fall back asleep, for the sake of my appearance. I laid there for what seemed like forever staring at the high sealing.

5:29 It was useless trying to fall asleep again, I could barely even take naps. I changed into some black leggings I'd shoved into the d bag, along with a weird hoody I'd brought along, my converse, and my shades. I wasn't going to bother to put makeup on this early, everyone was asleep, the glasses were dark enough to cover my face. I walked out the house, not sure where I was going.

The streets were empty except for the occasional car driving past. I kept picturing Floyd's back in my head. I need coffee. Coffee should make me stop.. I don't even like coffee that much. Coffee it is. I took out my phone and googled the nearest Starbucks. I was a little worried Id get lost along the way, but I could just call Aur, and she could pick me up in Blue. I could've easily take Blue myself, but I felt like walking, and feeling fresh air. The neighborhoods were quite pretty. Not exactly how I imagined, Full House had given me a false image. I found the Starbucks, which had a couple of tired looking zombie people shuffling around. I sat on one of the stools while I waited for my name to be called. I yawned, and looked out the window. A lady in her mid 40's was walking a French bulldog. On the other side there was a group of people waiting to catch the trolly. It was only 6:45 and life was already in action. I walked out taking a sip cautiously.

The day was clear, and the weather was so much cooler than LA's. A couple riding there bikes zoomed in front of me. They looked so happy. I remembered a little alley I'd seen on my way to Starbucks, and decided to walk through it instead of around. Walking out of it I saw a guy hunching in front of a bike rack. As I approached the figure I saw that the familiar shade of mustard of on the guy indeed was a knit sweater. Shit. He was holding the same camera from Coachella to his eye. He looked so focused. "Morning" I said a few feet before I was directly beside him. Floyd looked up from the camera.

"Morning" he said in a hoarse voice. He cleared his throat. "The wanderer, wandered out. How are you not lost? These streets are full of little streets." He stood up and slicked his hair back from his face with his free hand. It was massive, the hand. He had a silver ring on his thumb and index finger, and a big black shiny one on his ring finger.

"Do you know of this magic thing, where you type where you're trying to go, and then a mystical map appears showing you the way?" I asked sarcastically, trying not to show emotion. He hung the camera around his neck.

"Why are you up so early?" He asked, ignoring my comment. I looked at him through my shades. At this point we were walking back to his place.

"I'm not sure. If it was up to me I would still be under blankets. I couldn't go back to sleep, so I decided to check out San Fran." I answered. He was silent for a while, then finally spoke again. "Hey, uh, I never properly thanked you for helping us out that day at Coachella. So, thank you." I studied him from the side. His stubble was growing out. He was looking forward, there was thought written on his face. He crinkled his long upturned nose. Then looked down at me.