Waking up in a foreign country

I keep a lot of stuff to myself and i don´t speak about things on this blog because of the stalkers.
But i just came back from LA and i simply want to talk about what happened to me there with no restrains. I write in english as a form of forcing the non-english speaking bystanders to be overwhelmed by the effort of translating. So here i go.

My flight departed at 7 am so i had to be up at 3 am. It is a common and sure fact that in the wake of such a day one doesnt sleep properly even if you want to, and i was not an exception. I only got two hours of sleep.

The last time i visited LA i was a child. Who would have thought id be back in my adulthood, and not for pleasure purposes, but to get to know an art collector better? And with all expenses payed.
The taxi driver who took me downtown was having a hell of a bad day: all cranky and swearing at everybody. I tried to ignore his vibe and focused on the distant skyscrapers i was heading to while i listened to “Hey Jude” on my ipod. I realized then that i am gonna weep hard the day Paul McCartney will finally meet his mates in the afterlife. And god, i will cry buckets when David Bowie does the same.
I have been pretty insensitive the last months, i feel its just the reaction i took unconsciously to avoid getting hurt, but last week i found out a way to dig a hole into my numb exterior. The brigdes were music and hunger. I realized i liked to be hungry because i feel lighter, and the LA trip was slowly getting inside me, waking up some unknown apettites.

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