The days are roasting in the sun and the weed is smoked, I walk in flip-flops and boxers, drinking water, riding a horse, driving in a car, working the field.
I'm constructing a building from logs.
Mad German and Prophet Simon are here.
Carpenter Konstantin and Yolanda who used to do heroin - girlfriend of Martin, and she has a gorgeous daughter.
Pregnant Samira, daughter of Prophet, partner of Konstantin.
Cyril, a devil from Switzerland, evil Catman.
And me, meditating about my future, painting plans and dreams and envisioning, future of something I have no ideas about what it is.
I've had a few years of organized history, It crumbled like a house of cards.
Drinks, weed, love, manual labour, but I was thankful for it.
I got kicked by life a few times too:
prostitutes, transvestites, chemical drugs, times without money and existing in Bengali sublet, also, a lesson in Hong Kong and China I drove through as fast as I could without any regards to anything in escape from my own happiness.
The happiness of a young man-manager of one of the thousands of nameless coffee shops (but I respect all the hardworking people I met there because they are awesome and they're my friends), but I wanted to vagabond.
I always liked to vagabond:
just like hundreds of thousands faceless people without a home, freezing on streets, clinging to a cigarette bud.