In Tampa, I walk. I sweat. I pant. I live in a one mile square radius. I see the world and save it in pictures and a sense of unreality.
I think there’s nothing like it in Texas, but I’m wrong. It has homeless people, and rude people, and nice people, and good food, and heat, and the threat of a tropical disturbance.
I’m tired, and headachy, and have been stuffed full of knowledge and writing skills and new experiences.
And I’m ready to go home. And come back in January.