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Another Train Station at Dawn

From hoopty beginnings happy chaos springs. And so it was that I awoke at 2:45 in the morning, some 27 hours before our scheduled departure, to at last, definitively, and finally make up my mind that I was, in fact, going to be on the plane. I tried to gather a voyager's pack o' stuff in the remaining morning hours. Went to work for the next thirteen, came home, gathered the rest of my shit, called James to get sussed to things parisian, drove to the studio, thrashed some tunes out with C and D, went to my parents house and washed clothes 'til 4:30, took my dad's wake-up call at 5:15, drank coffee in the backseat of mi madre's car to SFO with Eden sacked on my shoulder, caught an hour of shut eye over Greenland, and landed in France at dawn with nothing but a Lonely Planet Paris and a collective knowledge of seven French words including croissant. Which is when you find the nearest erotic bookstore and pray the shopkeeper is an affable sort who spends the other half of the year somewhere on Potrero Hill.