"Blogging isn't journalism, it's graffiti with punctuation."

>night of half moons

>we loaded up on volumous green grapes, sliced cheeses, breads, and natural water that doesn’t surround our feet, and ate the steps of a church during sunset. venetian gondoliers sang under their wide brimmed hats as they passed under the pontis.

we wandered around the maze of the streets, some that lead nowhere, some that lead ultimately to the darkening green waters of the night.

we find an abandoned alley that most certainly should be used for sprinting, so we do. rana from montreal and i scream on your marks, get set . . . she wins by a hair, but i let her win of course. totally uncalled for. the street musicians, guitars and accordians in hand, oddly play the chicken dance song, so the 5 of us do the kindergarten movements we learned decades ago, and swing arm in arm around the piazza.

we run into ex boyfriends (all the jin joints in all the world…) . we disembark a train that has an abandoned (and shifty) bag left on it. we check out every backpack for a canadian flag (heyy!! canadian? where from? have a good trip).

we joke about men and sex, and say innappropriate things to passing venetian waiters.

we stumble back to the hostel late and hit the sweaty pillows. the weather in venice is a hot 26 degrees, and our bronzed bodies clumsily bash into one another. today brings historical tours and more time to wonder about the world.

i feel like a thousand years have passed, i’m younger than i used to be.
i feel like the world is my home at last, i know everyone that i meet.


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