Shaking my legs, listening to Gram Parsons singin’ “Ooh Las Vegas, ain’t no place for a poor boy like me” and I think about the heat seeping out of the rocks after the sun’s gone down, about sitting on the hood of my car, lonelier than I wanted to be. I’d blown my last few bucks on a sandwich on the outskirts of town and I was trying to hit San Bernadino before midnight. The insanity of summer, of rough haired youth, of unsteady feet and free wheeling assumption; these things made me want to drive straight to the coast, straight to Vista, and get laid, get high, get sadder, get empty, get happier, get fuller, get in the water. I ended up bouncing around condos, running red lights, and wearing mismatched three-piece suits. We swam in the ocean on the way to L.A. just to feel the coast underfoot. You made my head a mess, I’m telling you.

Photo by; Matia Theodosakis
Model; Mary scott