BERLIN

SORRY, EVERYONE! HERE'S BERLIN! Vingettes of passion.

We're riding down the Eastern Gallery at 3 AM after getting booted from a club. Directly ahead of us are two similar dudes also on bikes. They pass a bottle back and forth, trying to stay in the bike lane. I ride up to one of them and put my hand out for the bottle. The dude-man laughs and hands me the bottle, empty. I ride ahead to his comrade, chuck the bottle in his bike basket and speed off. Swedish. The next day I see one of them in a magazine at the art bookstore. 

Our tour guide was extremely emotional all throughout the three hour tour of the Satsi Prison. She was tall and swayed back and forth in the middle of the crowd, violently explaining the violence that took place. She would always end her bits with "but I don't have to tell you what that means" or "you can probably guess what happened", each word slower than the next. She didn't cry, but it felt close. It was a horrifying prison. 

I was getting lost in the east, listening to music. A woman outside a storefront ushered me inside, speaking fast German. I entered and saw two beautiful women, one at a desk and one halfway up a library ladder tending to a huge wall of DVDs. I scanned the titles and didn't recognize any of them. They were all names and little pictures. I bolted back out onto the street and walked past a gothic church. Was that a video dating service? 

I hadn't ordered anything regrettable until last night. I wanted a big plate of donor kebab with salad and bread on the side. What I got was a plate of red peppers, onions, grease, meat cubes and rice.  God damn it! An unwanted ticket to Fart City. 

The head Australian held court outside the hostel. It was the one about the hooker in Amsterdam. It was 50 Euro, "brunette all the way", and strictly business. The rest of the boys asked questions, fascinated. The leader cooly smoked a cigarette and didn't even bother talking about his second hooker- his initiation lady was enough. I learned the phrase "have a go" and the word "dingy" (condom).

I went to the most bar-ish looking of the bars with Dylan. There were obscene posters on the walls, an old street sign standing sideways that said "DIE" and girls everywhere. It was Friday and Berlin was dressed up. I was sick of my only set of clothes- the gray nylon pants, the blue shirt, the chambray button up and the white windbreaker. I was especially sick of my shoes, a pair of Tom's that couldn't handle rain. They smelled awful and looked worse, like two dead rats. I smelled awful. I hadn't worn deodorant in a month. I also hadn't showered that day. It was nice to find out later that German girls don't care much about any of these things. 

We met some German natives on the couch and we got drunk together. One was tall and blonde and a student, one was a tall, skinny psychiatrist and one didn't speak any English but was very jolly. It was like a scene from a German sitcom. We went to a club and we are all still friends to this day. 

The group of French kids were awake early because they hadn't slept for 48 hours. We all went to the subway station together but neither of us Americans had money. When we got the money we didn't have small enough bills to pay for tickets. When we got the small bills and the tickets we were sure we wouldn't make our train to Amsterdam. I was wearing all my layers, sweating in the subway, cursing myself for not biking to the station with a perfectly good bike in fine weather. We made it with little time to spare. I didn't have a ticket for my bike but everything was fine.

We went out to dinner with three beautiful British girls who turned out to be sisters! They said they were leaving Europe (going back to England) after Prague. They only had one more night in Berlin.

I had breakfast in the hostel every morning because I thought it was a good deal.

Rachel hung out with us once even though every night we made some sort of contact, saying we'd meet up later. Eventually I let her have the last word: "let me get in touch wit u lata". She never did but it was a comforting message to leave me with. Something about its optimism or something. The night we did meet up with Rachel we had fun at a dancehall club. I learned how to reggae dance on a weed cruise. Rachel had a friend who was very good looking and we left her at the club with a man and Rachel said something about her being free spirited. 

Berlin was a blast. 

ALONE

The women are beautiful but they're also huge. They aren't huge in a fat way, they're just big and tall. They use more cloth. They're tan and stylish and if Disney animated them they'd be hot bears. 

. 

AN UNEXPECTED FAREWELL

Shooting down the road back to Visp from Saas Fee at over 45 MPH, I passed through a tunnel. Small slats in the wall made slivers of light on the asphalt. The light beams danced in the cool morning air. They were projected through a waterfall rushing over the tunnel down to the river 300 meters below. 

Today wasn't supposed to be my last day in Switzerland. Although I try to roll with as little plans as possible, I figured I had three days ride to Zurich before I took a train to Germany. But here I am, on a train bound to Berlin. 

The morning was amazing. I woke up, packed up and ate as many calories as I could at the buffet. I was riding near a 100 miles with 2 big passes along the way. I paid my dues (two nights at a fantasy hotel or $30) and said my goodbyes. I went down the mountain, all 38 kilometers of it. The first 30 K I was the only person headed downhill. The weather was perfect, and I was reminded once again of how awesome Switzerland's alps are. 

On the road to Brig, I thought about luxury. I was constantly cycling to the next bit of free housing or complementary meal. Between destinations I camped. In Europe camping isn't the opposite of luxury but it's damn close. I think I'm about as comfortable as one person can be in a tent, but a room with a bed is so much better. I suppose I could go all the way and camp every night regardless, but that experience would be too limiting in itself. Trains are another luxury on my journey. I could get to Berlin on my bike in a week and a bit. Today I'm doing it in 10 hours. 

After Brig was more pleasant riding. Then things started getting vertical. I was hitting 10% grades before noon. 

I took note of the lack of road cyclists coming my way. Plenty of sweaty mountain bikers pumping up and down on huge shock absorbers, but no road bikes like mine. I started to get really worried when my signposted road cycling route suddenly turned to gravel. The asphalt came back only to disappear again. I was scared. Suddenly I turned a corner and there was an elaborate cobblestone road so steep I had to get off my bike. An old couple with hiking poles turned to watch the defeated man push his bike up the rocky path. 

It was the most beautiful and dangerous riding I've done. I took some of the flat dirt sections well, but I simply didn't have big enough gears to take the steep hills. I got to a bridge and an Italian man let me know the worst was yet to come. After pushing Ginger up 2 K of dirt I made it to the paved road. I cursed the makers of my Swiss map. Upon further examination, I saw there were tiny mountain bike trail signs along the trail, even though it was displayed as a road bike route. I was furious, not only at the incompetence of all Swiss map makers, but also because I had obliterated my testicles on my final mountain bike turn of the day. 

I was happy to be on asphalt again. I passed cows with such swollen udders that I wanted to pull over and fill my empty bottles with their unpasturized milk. 

The rest of the ride was no cake walk. Rain clouds loomed overhead, and I could smell a storm coming. A considerable headwind had kicked up. I was also hungry. Lucky for me it was Sunday and all markets were closed. I could spend $30 on a mediocre Swiss lunch. I thought about it. I kept on hearing Mr. Wirther say the phrase 'typical Swiss' in my head. I ended up eating all of the 8 bread rolls I took from his hotel buffet.

Then the rain really kicked up and I pondered camping for the night. It was too early. I was in a town where a little train went through a mountain. I took the little train and there was no rain on the other side. Then downhill to where I planned to camp. On a whim I stopped in the train station and jokingly asked if I could get a train to Berlin. They said yes. So I did it. I won't talk about money, but I was relieved to be leaving a nation where money evaporates like water. Had I rode to Zurich, I would have spent just as much camping and eating. Plus I had friends in Berlin. Friends from New York. Am I ready to interact with real people again? I really can't say. 

The night train is great. I almost missed it because I took a shower in the Zurich train station. Am I trying to spend the rest of my Swiss Francs? Absolutely. I had dinner in the dining car next to a very regal Italian mother and son who chew with their mouths wide open. This is why I bought ear plugs. 


ALoNE

MAXIMUM WAGE

A couple kilometers into the hill I realized I I hadn't really started my 30 kilometer ascent to Saas Fee. Suddenly the grade kicked up a few degrees and I began climbing the 2000 meters of elevation. Traffic was heavy. It was the only road through the Alps. At the crux of the hill and the flat I made eye contact with a girl selling apricots on the side of the road. She gave me a sideways smile. 

SLEEPING FOR FREE isn't hard-- it just requires some sneakiness. I was only going to stay one night at the campsite, but bad weather forced another. I wasn't going to pay for it, though. Unfortunately I'd made good friends with the girl at the reception desk, and during my escape we locked eyes. It was a tense moment but she had nothing on me. I was packed up and leaving. For all she knew I was visiting friends. I hope she didn't take it personally. 

I was off to a ski resort town in the Alps to meet Mr. Wirth, a successful hotel owner, at his latest acquisition. I got to Visp from Vevey and my directions were simple enough from there. To quote: "go to Visp and then go up." And up I went. 

After two days of easy riding I was ready for a challenge. The road to Saas Fee was one giant, 38 kilometer hill cutting into the Alps with over 2000 meters of elevation. There were several towns along the way nestled into mountain cliffs. I traversed over bridges so high in the air I got off and walked my bike out of fear.

I couldn't help feeling silly when I was huffing and puffing through mountain villages where people were going about their daily lives. Sometimes I would have to go through tunnels under mountains. Any car in a tunnel sounds like a freight train. 

After Saas Grund (Hasidic Jews everywhere!)  the hill really got steep.  The switchbacks were tight. It was an exciting last few meters. I turned a corner and suddenly I was face to face with a huge glacier rolling over the Alps above Saas Fee. 

Entering Saas Fee you're presented with two options: drive your car into the biggest downward spiral of a parking lot you've ever seen, or turn around and go home. I turned right from the parking sea shell and went in under a gate. The town was jam packed with German speaking Swiss. Given its proximity to the border, I was expecting Italian. 

I looked for my hotel and suddenly realized that all the buildings in Saas Fee were hotels. I eventually rolled passed mine. A man pulling weeds in a tiny garden called my name. It was Mr. Wirth! He was tall, happy and wore a red turtleneck. Imagine Werner Herzog as a happy hotel owner. 

He showed me to my room, which was actually the owner's suite, and recommended I got some rest. We would meet in two hours and go to dinner. I stood on my balcony and admired the looming glacier up above. Then I took the longest shower ever. 

I went to dinner a little less stinky. Mr. Wirth promised me an authentic Swiss experience and he delivered. A three piece band consisting of two accordions and a base played all the Swiss hits. Eventually the restaurant owner joined with his Sax, then his recorder. I let Mr. Wirth order for me. His only question was: "do you like cheese?"

While digging through my cast iron skillet of potato hash, cheese, eggs, ham and pickled vegetables, we talked about the high wages of Swiss workers, how Swiss were possessive and rude most of the time, and covered some basic Swiss history. We finished with herbal tea and a half portion of apple strudel. 

During the meal two old Swiss couples danced to the music. One couple was clearly more enthusiastic and eventually booted the other couple off the floor. Something was medically wrong with the dancing man. He could barely walk, and when we complemented him on his moves I noticed he could barely speak. It was really the way he handled his wife. With a plastic grimace on his face, he spun, dipped and pushed his companion around with jerking, quick movements of his arm. She was intensely receptive to his commands, and there was lots of love between the two. After she helped him back to his seat, she would yodel with the band, much to the appreciation of the rest of the diners. "Typically Swiss," remarked Mr. Wirth. 

After the meal we went back to the hotel and I ventured out to the festival to meet the girl from the tourism office. 

ALONE

Morning came and I drank the perfect amount of coffee: too much. Looking out at the Alps I pondered my next move. Visp-Milan-Munich-Berlin? Visp-Milan-Yugoslavia? This hotel sure is nice. 

CHILLED TO THE BONE ROAST

The Australian couple finally asked me to join them on their blanket. It was a warm night in Switzerland and I bought us all a round of canned beers. We drank and talked about the road. By now most of my stories were well rehearsed. They talked over each other competitively. Their's weren't. They had the same stories to tell, and no way of delegating the role of speaker. I got up to get ready for bed. We said we'd see each other in the morning. That night a storm was brewing. When I stepped out of my tent in the morning it was raining and the Australians were gone. 

I HAVE MISCALCULATED. It's not hot
and sunny here everyday like in France.

I got to Pully only to find an email from my host saying his son was in the hospital and couldn't host me. I biked down lakeside and immediately found two campsites. I parked at the one in Vevey and set up shop. 

There was wi fi at the campsite restaurant so I packed myself a sardine dinner and stepped inside. The waiter watched me open a store bought beer and expressed his anger. After apologizing, I chugged the whole beer in front of him. He darted off, returned and placed an 8 Franc beer in front of me that in was forced to drink and pay for. Now I was a little tipsy and borderline angry. 

In rebellion, I fixed and ate a greasy sardine sandwich right outside the entrance to the restaurant. I made sure to drain the can on the restaurant's property. The owner of the campsite sprayed me and my hobo mess with a garden hose after I told him to fuck off. 

Later, I snuck back into the restaurant where my broken computer was charging secretly under a table. Earlier in the day I'd taken the computer to a repair man in the city. To my dismay it worked perfectly for the first time since it stopped working. The computer man laughed at me. When I tried it again at the campsite it was broken. Switzerland is haunted. 

The girl who works the reception desk is cute. Later, she was pulling weeds in the garden. I like her little, white gardening shorts. 

I went for a swim in the lake and then took my four minute, one dollar shower. I read my book and walked around. I ate some more of the 18 granola bars I bought at the supermarket the day before. The 2-for-1 granola bar deal was the only promotion in the market. I drank beers with Austalians and played cards with some German Swiss girls. Lesbians? Dude, awesome. In the middle of the night the wind blew my tent around. The morning was a hard rain situation. It was so bad I didn't even say good morning to Ginger.  I played cards with the Swiss girls again and read. My friend emailed me trying to get me to come to Berlin but it's not as easily done as he claims it is. It's expensive. Everything is. My breakfast (a
baguette and a coffee) cost 11 francs. My next destination is to meet up with the owner of a ski resort. A friend got me in touch with him and it could be great. But if I'm cold here, how cold will I be up there at 5000 ft elevation?

In my experience so far Swiss French speakers have a serious attitude problem.  Why would you openly hate tourists at a campsite? Did they make a campsite just to have a place to gather victims and channel their hatred? 

The rain is bringing me down. I long for Germany and Garric. 

ALONE

INTO THE HEART OF SWISSNESS

 
Seconds before walking out the door back onto the streets my bike tire exploded. It was Dan, my most troublesome companion, and she would have finally be replaced.

You've been a very bad girl and now you must be replaced. 

 I'd patched her twice on the road, and I looked at the patchwork fondly as I scanned the tube for the culprit hole. The problem was a huge slash at the base of the valve. I decided it wasn't worth fixing. I replaced the tube and reluctantly headed out the door into Geneva. 

The metaphor of Dan's demise is so inspiring to me. It also highlights some deep character flaws. 

OUT OF ALL the major European cites I've either sped through or stayed in, Geneva would probably be the place I could see myself living in the most. It's diverse, lively and practical. Even though it seems expensive it isn't that bad. The Swiss Franc is a little above the dollar. Going to the movies costs $18, but worse things could happen. It's beautiful and interesting. It makes me want to learn French and go into finance. I could settle for a Swiss wife. 

But I had to leave, naturally. I always leave. I'll admit I felt a lot more comfortable in France. Switzerland feels a little more conservative, or maybe rigid is the right word. I feel like if I really begged a French person to let me sleep in their front yard it would happen. I don't see that happening with the Swiss. Although I do see fondue happening in my future. 

Campsites seem sparse. I'm hoping I'll get to the wilderness fast enough to camp for free, but then again that's the wilderness. In France I was hitting a town every ten minutes, what will the wilderness do to me? For one, I'm nowhere warm enough. For two, I have limited space for food-- maybe two meals worth max. And for three I'm scared of forest beasts-- especially Yetis. 

I accomplished none of my goals this morning. I got a message saying my wallet was stolen. After not finding my wallet amongst my things, I accepted the possibility that the message wasn't a scam. The man who had it was the owner of the sketchy Internet cafe I'd visited the day before. I arrived before opening and knocked on the door. The man handed me my wallet, now empty of Euros and Francs. He said he found the wallet in front of the cafe. I half believed him. I was just happy they left me my Swiss bank credit card. 

After that I ate some catfood in a baguette and cleaned up some things. I hastily packed my bags. The whole time I was worried. I had no idea what I was doing or where I was going. I had a place to stay the night after, so tonight would have to be a leap of faith evening. I had no map. Instead of buying one I bought another book three sardine cans thick. Am I trying to ruin myself? 

Praise Christ I found an expensive campsite on the lake halfway to Pully, my next destination. Things are alright for now. 

ALONE 

EVERY TOURIST'S WET DREAM

I was waiting at the Starbucks outside the Geneva train station for an hour, trying to connect with someone. I would have ordered a coffee but everything was so expensive. The man at the counter gave me the wi-fi password no questions asked. Outside, a guy named Carlos let me use his Swiss phone. Later, Michael, my step step uncle would burst through the crowd and double point at me with blazing intensity. Fireworks were going off and Geneva was buzzing. I was safe.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT a "rent-a-boy" bar is but I had a pretty good idea I wasn't going to love it. I opted for the other option- an alternative bar. Michael made it clear he was hitting the town tonight. No straight bars. We parked our bikes outside and went in. It was very low key and friendly. Older men sat spare at the bar, making eyes. We drank giant beers. I downed my first one in a matter of gulps. No dinner yet.

Michael is my quadralingual, gay, finance working, step step uncle and I was surprised he was buying me drinks. I'd never met the guy, let alone heard of him. At the bar we met Stefan, his partner of ten years. Stefan is quiet and dark, with a youthful jolt in his wrists. He left before us and we did another round. The bartender addmitted to me he was jealous I was going home with Michael. I didn't have to say much to dissapoint him further.

Michael cooked me pasta and fixed me a salad. We watched French TV and talked about family. I passed out.

I woke with a pulsing headache. Beer really gets me. Lucky for me Stefan and Michael had a load of activities in store. We were going swimming, kayaking, biking, lounging, girl hunting, museum trekking and beer driking.

We biked down to a lakeside entry point and blew up the raft. I went for a quick swim. Before I could sun myself dry Stefan came running up, yelling at me to shower off. Apparently a parasite lives in the lake that burrows in your skin if you don't rinse properly. I quickly made for the shower.

I kayaked alongside Michael as he practiced his swimming for an upcoming triatholon. We switched places eventually and when we got back to shore I taught him the butterfly stroke the best I could.

The girls in Switzerland are so tragically ugly. Especiallz the near naked ones on the beach. Poor things.

We went to a foodstand next to the Geneva Museum of Obsolete Scientific Equiptment. We had sandwiches and beers. A pregnant woman in a yellow bikini complained about the freshness of her sandwich. I don't think she realized the sandwiches were from a bag. Then a DJ started spinning reggae and we left.

Stephan led the way to a bar thing that was a giant outdoor peninsula covered in people. It looked like seals on the pier in San Francisco. They promised me women. I feel asleep on the peninsula to the dismay of the beached Swiss beauties. I woke to an unexpected rainstorm and we made off for home.

At the apartment I feel asleep again. We went to a very fancy pizza restaurant. It was delicious and everyone working there was italian. When the bill was questionable Michael broke into flawless Italian, gesturing to our waitress like a native speaker. The bill was sorted and we went to the Swiss independence day parade. There was a promenade decorated with projections and flags and foodstands and people in costume. There was a very surreal show after a long speech that culminated in a pyre fire. Then there was more avant guarde performances and dancing. After a billion tall cans of beer we walked back home and watched French TV. I feel asleep.

I woke at 3 AM to see Michael standing in the kitchen devouring a bag of chips. I think it was part of his triatholon training. With everz dramatic crunch of chips he would toss his head back in ecstacy. I patiently waited until he crumpled the bag up and went to sleep. I wondered if he was sleepwalking.

The next day I saw Inception, got lost, and then got robbed. They took all my Euros and the 10 Swiss Francs I had. Drat. I did manage to get one of the robber's testicles and I'm sending it to the lab for analysis. Maybe I can solve this mystery and get my money back.

ALONE $£$

On Swiss keyboards the z and the y are switched. I think I did okaz, though. Camping tonight, Pully tomorrow.

BACK TO DANGER

That was it-- no more lights. I was somewhere on a road outside Narbonne and it was pitch black. I knew I was within 3000 meters of a campsite-- that was the last sign I saw. I searched desperately for another sign in vain. It was nearly 23:00. I slowed down to let cars light the road from behind me. They honked. My heart raced. I let another car pass. Was this the entrance? Yes. I was in front of the site! 20 euros a night? I'm not paying. I'm a brave, unorganized man who sleeps for free.

LEAVING GARRIC MANOR in Montreal was the worst and best decision I've made so far on my journey. It was the best because I I went out on top of two weeks of luxury culminating in some serious friendships and eye-opening experiences. Wine every night. Laughter. Children. Barcelona. All an incredible memory. I think I also gained my all wieght back. And then some.

It was the worst because I really could have stayed. It would have saved me the hardest two days of riding yet-- including a nasty spill down a gravel hill and 100 degree heat. I also could have been in a real bed, with real friends in a really comfortable zone.

But I've continued on. I headed east from Garric without getting lost to Minerve- a city built into a giant canyon in the black alps. It was spectacular. I decided to stay at the nearest site, which was up yet another giant hill (it was a very uphill day thus far). Nearing the site, I realized I had no money, food or water. The essentials. Back down the hill. Right before the city entrance I encountered some gravel. I didn't stand a chance.

I had to break and I did. Something turned and my weight moved. Then the slow motion started and I was sliding on my side down the gravel path. Onlooking Frenchies came to my aide. I waved them off with a laugh. Nothing broken. Bike in tact. Blood streaming out of arm. Throbbing pain in leg. Clothes ripped.

I went to a nearby outdoor sink to clean my wounds. I howled as I pulled a
large piece of gravel out of my arm. In the sink there were three coffee mugs and some dish soap. I rubbed the dish soap over my wound, snarling at the sharp pains. I watched the soapy water in the coffee mugs below me turn red. I felt eyes on me. I turned to see a woman holding a dish rag, waiting to wash her mugs now filled with bloody soap water. Oh and I was also at the threshold of the ladies room cursing like a banshee.

Ginger sustained little damage in the crash apart from a crooked drop bar and some ripped rubber.

Where was the nearest ATM? Twenty kilometers south. Where was the nearest campsite? Not far from there, actually. I pulled up to a large gate, money replenished, ready to camp. I pressed a button and a very relaxed, tan, man with long hair walked out to meet me. "camping?" I asked. "yes." he said. Then he asked: "are you a naturalist?"

It took me two seconds to realize what a naturalist was. The relaxed man in front of me had probably been nude just before walking through the gate and no doubt he was going to rip off those linen pants when he went back inside. He did send me off with a warning, though. "No camping" he said, pointing to my destination on the map. Later that evening, biking in darkness, I would regret not being a naturalist for one night.

I continued. And continued. I bought some bread and anchovies and beer in anticipation of the eventual campsite dinner. Nothing. A few miles from Narbonne I noticed the sun was going down. Headlights were on and people honked at me. "Thanks!" I'd scream, "I forgot I was on a bike riding down a French highway at dusk!"

Usually when I'm riding on the road I sing very loud. I come up with new songs and improve on old ones. I make dirty lyrics for classics. I have limited musical theater knowledge but I do my best renditions. The music died when the sun went down that day. I could no longer sing. I was starting to get scared.

When I did finally park my bike behind a tree in a far off campsite I vanquished an entire beer to cool my nerves. I showered and set my clothes out to dry. I asked a girl sitting at a table in the next campsite over if I could join her and she obliged. I ate a lemon and basil sardine sandwich with a peach soda and chocolate biscuits after. It isn't Garric quality- but I know how to treat myself on the road for cheap. I slept horribly.

I woke at seven and went to Biezers from Narbonne. The big jump in kilometers was from Biezers to Montpillier and that's when it got very hot. For one euro I bought a sack of old pastries from a bakery. After an hour in my bag they tasted oven fresh! By far the best thing that happened that day.

As I pressed on. The amount of old French men on bicycles started going down. I only ever encounter old men cyclists on the road. The heat would have killed the old men. My advantage!

Slowly the kilometers inched by and I found myself on the outskirts of Montpellier- a city I didn't care about for the time being. The train station was as hard to find as it was hot outside. I just wanted to be on a train with a cold beer in my hand- preferably nestled between the chilled breasts of a Swiss goddess who would invite me to stay at her party mansion.

Instead, I got on the train (no air conditioning) without liquid (beverage car closed, vending machines out of order) and sat next to a modern day French Aladdin who curled up under the seat when the ticket man came to avoid a $200 dollar ticket. I went to the bathroom and when I came back he had been caught. Stupid Aladdin.

The drink car was closed for some reason but a nice gypsy lady gave me some water. This allowed me to eat another sardine sandwich. I hope for the sake of the other passengers the smell of fish was a welcome addition from the smell of me.

Now I'm going to Geneva. My original reason for doing this was to meet up with Dylan Golden but apparently he picked up and went to Paris to hang out with some of his friends of a higher caliber. But now I'll make it for the international Swiss day thing that's tomorrow. Fireworks!

I haven't had time to get properly sad about leaving the manor Garric. Hold on. Ok.

Now I'm sad. Oh, Gusti, with your sugar addictedness and your smarts and your constant pestering to trampoline! Oh, William, with your insults and candid moments of genius! Oh, Joe, with your string bean stature and a Lego heart of gold! Oh, Jasmine, you future heartbreaker beyond your years! Oh Teddy, you opare wanna-be. You'll all reach your dreams! Touch the stars! Tan the leather hide of life!

Adults: you know where I stand. They will get hand written letters.

ALONE