THE HIDDEN TRACK

The following passages are dedicated to Leopold, to the vernacular, to certain evil women (you know who you are), to certain wonderful people(they know who they are), to soft afternoons and quiet Sunday evenings, to Fall and seeing your breath for the first time since Spring, and to Isabelle Ya Feng ... a soul slipped by like two ships passing in the still, moonlit sea.
-- Abraham Ahmed, the Surfing Beatnik



Bob and I ...



"Bob, You remember that time you and I were in - where was it now? Denver? You and I were a'walking down the road and you were tell'n me about that young byrd you were chasing?"

"South of Devner I think."
Bob responded questionably.
"Ya,Ya, someplace south of Devner...anyways it was the end of summer, cold as shit in the evenings, I bummed a smoke off you, your last if I remember right..."

"It was my last!" He laughs.
"Ya, but that byrd ... can't remember her name but she was like FIFTEEN and for some reason you thought she was much older... you remember that?"
"I do, I do remember that." Said Bob, tilting his head back and invisioning.

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