Standing in line at the beer store "looming" as maybe Frankenstein's monster might on a Friday night in S.Cruz. I couldn't even begin to tell you & I won't even try weaving among the shadows. The vault of heaven is wide open & the stars assume you know the name of every constellation from Andromeda to Volpecula but that doesn't mean you can find your car keys. The palm trees rattle their bones & a light seabreeze fucking w/your equilibrium has you doing your best Joe Cocker imitation right there in the parking lot. Just one of the many obstacles you'll encounter along the path of least resistance. Slick liquid neon palette of sunset still lingering in the heavy Pacific sky.