3am Airport

First I wanted to read and I wanted transient music in the background, so I put this playlist on. I got a few more pages into The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and realized I wanted to meditate, so I did and I snapped out of it an hour and a half later. I still have the playlist going and…

I keep flashing back to Madrid: the airport at 3AM, smoking gin hookahs with Canadian boys and Stüttgart girls, ripping the tarp outta the wall, the Uruguay boys rugby team, that attractive coach, smoking weed with that crazy German guy in the park, the California lady, the glass house in the middle of the park filled with art, Plaza Mayor, the stone laid highways, that urban store along the way, the bubble man in the garden labyrinth, asshole American tourists, stolen bottles of rum that lead to the late night Harlem Shake, ukulele sing-a-longs, train rides with strangers about former love trysts, every day in that damn park.

I hated Madrid when I was there and now it’s memories hug me and show me there’s another way to love it.


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