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Devil's Minion
San Francisco 
28th-Jan-2015 10:29 am
I came back without really knowing how I got there. I wanted to see that blood red bridge and the cable car gripman dropping the rope on Powell. I wanted to see if the little bar was still open where I chain-smoked my way through half a bottle of Bourbon. It was a Wednesday and it was raining. I still had teeth marks in my neck.

Funny how actually touching something can dispel its magic. The moment I arrived I knew I didn't want to be there. The sight of the bay doesn't move me. The old streets sicken me. So much for home.
Record
Comments 
1st-Feb-2015 04:40 am (UTC)
Home is never a place. You should know that well enough by now.

Was the little bar still open?
3rd-Feb-2015 08:47 am (UTC)
They stripped out all the wood and you can't smoke in there now so it's not a real bar.

So where is home? Are you really going to say it's with you? That I have to hear.
4th-Feb-2015 02:50 am (UTC)
With me? No. Have I ever been the sentimental type? Home is a state of mind. It is entirely within your control.

You're wandering again. What is it that you seek, Daniel?
4th-Feb-2015 10:32 am (UTC)
Nothing that you can give me. Like you said it's entirely within my control.
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