Spring comes. The magnolia and dogwood bloom white and pink.
I am filled with abundance. I find money on the streets. While running through Golden Gate Park, I spot a dollar bill on the sidewalk. I stuff it in my spandex shorts like a smug, well-compensated go-go dancer. While walking one evening down Market Street, I find twenty dollars. I don’t hesitate to pick up the bill. Money holds power to create and bestow on others.
I am given two keys. Not just for locking things, keys can open hidden recesses and free blocked objects. To win one key, I confess my sins to a nun standing underneath the McDonalds arches at 24th and Mission. For the other key, I confess true love to a High Priestess late in the evening on top of Dolores Park. Both confessions are about the same person. The High Priestess issues me an edict on her mechanical typewriter:
For penguin & dinosaur: When the city collapsed, we waited in the night tunnels, thinking of nothing but the sun. after so long spent in the darkness, it can feel strange to see the stars, to find what has long been hidden, to feel the bright sun of hope press into our open arms.