dig dug

anonymous tahiti travellers rattle at my ear. what is an island? where is the equator? am i allowed to take home the lagoon? is french polynesia french? are you a girl? why do fish live underwater?
i knew the answer once...
now i merely bruise on the underside of my thigh, bitten by rabid office furniture. i must get my shots.
my faithful cohort, nanak's lip smoothee in almond flavor, offers relief for a golden moment... spf 10.
i make that fateful trip to whole foods daily, bumbling in somewhere around the previously unknown hour of 8:19. i meet with all manner of friends.
andy dick in the fresh veges, little david in for sage to "cleanse" the house, an old white man and his black lady friend (my how the world has grown). i find that i need a haircut. the dykes are decidedly fresher with a closely shorn cut. mine hangs in lankey chlorine green, not punk but rather ignored.
it does not cease to amaze me how many dollars grace the pockets of the lucky bastards that i send into the tropical delight that is bora bora... don't believe me? come back tomorrow and i'll show you some pretty pictures, including some dollar signs that come with them.