Nostalgia

Sometimes days literally smell like California, especially mixed with the way the air feels on my face and the way the sun streams at certain angles. It makes me feel like I'm walking to McClellan Ranch Park, or sitting at the bottom benches at Linda Vista. It feels like drinking Oregon Chai and smoking a bowl at Coffee Society, or making a soda can pipe at Jollyman, or fishing at the reservoir. I could be driving down 17 headed for Santa Cruz with the windows down listening to college radio, or climbing the foothills behind Los Altos. Or I could be in Alex Day's backyard tripping on acid, or eating macaroni and cheese outside at Whole Foods. It feels like leaving the library at De Anza to get to class on time, riding my bike to work, or playing chess at Santana Row. If I close my eyes and try not to think too hard, I can see 7th st and the MLK library with its pouring sun and bowing trees, and quiet hum, never too overbearing, even if I am downtown.

Nostalgia is hitting me like a bag of hammers, and yes, it is painful.