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That blue never occurs in nature other than in the telephone line strewn skies. It's a blue like none other, a touch of green just to give the clouds more depth. And it's so dark, just waiting to fall after that rich orange and hazy yellow. I don't even care that it's most likely pollution causing the heavens to spill out color thicker than paint. I don't care. And if most people get yanked back to a time in the past by a scent, I get thrown into memories by colors.

I didn't really think too hard about getting out of the city last night. Route 2, through Fed Hill, under the overpass, past the gas station I always made those horribly cold phonecalls, tucked into the shadows, freezing my ass to the hood of my car. Over the bridge now, "So, this is why you gun it when driving a stick, it's fun as hell!", through Brooklyn. Can I tell you how many times I've taken this way? It was hard to turn off onto Mountain Rd. and not just continue until the lanes meshed with 100, then 10. Pasadena's right around the bend, there, but there's nothing there now, but somebody else's tacky curtains? Oh, God......

The orange was running away as I pulled into the parking lot, and the blue was filling me with those litle pieces I had forgotten about. Those pieces of when I felt so desperate about feeling so alone. So disconnected, only to find out that was very much the case, I for once, was not imagining it. Was I really that young?.....I was definetly that gullible.

But that blue also filled me with a sense of "I can't wait to get home. Something might be different when I get there. And the faces...the smiling faces....and eyes." I'd been back to this area since December, but it had't hit me that there wasn't anything there for me just a bit South anymore. Ugh.

I hopped out of the car, and leaned against it looking at sky, wondering if it saw the change in me, as I could not see the real difference in it. I just saw all the changes under it, though. I tasted different, it didn't. And it felt natural. This is the way things play out, it hurts, but we cling to sweet the aftertaste. A favorite food that maybe we ate too much of at one point, and it lost it's specialness. Or maybe it's grilled cheese and you can never really tire of it. I don't know. But I'd never get tired of this sky, nights like this, letting the memories seep in against my will. A old reel of ideas and pictures flinging themselves against this steel shell I've been trying to house myself in.

"You know they've been shipping your beloved crabs from Florida for years, now, right?"

Well, I guess if I want to visit the blue, I have to visit with the memories. So be it. I know I can never go without seeing the blue.

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