I have been back in San Francisco for two days now, still a little jet-lagged from the flight I took from Reykjavik, Iceland. I went on a two-month long odyssey with my good friend Darcy. We had been planning the trip for almost a year, a big Euro-trip blow out with seven different countries among our destinations. And now I am back home, broke and without any clear paths for me to follow. The trip had a very tremendous buildup for Darcy and I; it even required the two of us getting married so that I could get money from City College to fund the trip. It required the two of us doing all sorts of things that we typically despise doing. And of course after it is all over we ask ourselves 'Was it all worth it?' Of course that is a silly question, irrelevant because it is in the past and we need to move on. It was definitely an adventure, we saw incredible views, ate gluttonously every day, met strange folk, interesting folk, mean folk and generous folk; we fought and fought some more... and we have both made decisions to go back (but probably separately, heh heh.) And now I am back into my old routine of sleeping in Golden Gate Park, getting woken up in the morning by park rangers, waiting in line at the food stamp office, eating at soup kitchens- my typical San Francisco home bum life. And it is almost satisfying. Almost satisfying because despite the mundanity of the routine I have almost absolute freedom- a ninja in the night. And it would be completely satisfying if for only one small difference- marijuana. Of course there is hash in virtually every nook and cranny in Europe and, I had my fair share of that, but I miss smoking a nice plump joint in the morning, in the afternoon and at night before I go to bed. A cure-all for stress, depression, boredom, anxiety... all of the problems that I foresee myself smacking my forehead straight into as soon as my feet finally touch the ground and I settle fully into this perfect life that I have created for myself here in my beloved San Francisco. My life here that requires almost nothing of me. I have attuned myself very precisely to all the 'free shit' frequencies vibrating through San Francisco's moist chilly air, like a satellite high above the earth's surface. And here I am, reaping all of the benefits of two years living in this beggars' paradise. And I only need one thing to be happy here and thankfully I have that worked out too. I write articles for this website called Roaddawgz and the editor gives me twenty dollars, then I call my friend up and buy as much pie as I can.. and the cycle will go on, month after month after month, until I have lived here too long. I suppose that's why the trip to Europe was good for me; I now have a nice tidy list of places I can go there when my lazy good for nothing ninja time runs out here. HayyyA!