Golden Gate through the bus window. I realized that what typically prevents me from taking such pictures is not the judgement of anonymous passersby, no not that, but the possible embarrassment of my traveling companion(s). God forbid our friends catch us earnestly cherishing something! Ha.
My door-to-door travel on Thursday felt endless and everyone I encountered assumed I was traveling for work. And I was, but I found their certainty a little suspect. Did I look unmistakably yoked to obligation, dun-complected from a life under buzzing fluorescence, despite my slacker-y sundress, sandals, chipped nailpolish, Janis Joplin glasses? I conceded that I must.
However that night in the hotel lobby, a woman handed me a stack of dirty dishes and asked if I could take care of them. I could not, I told her. I spun around to the front desk, still holding my Cabernet thuggishly by its neck, and asked a staff member if they had a wine key I could borrow. "Of course, honey'", he says. Man. Must I always be someone's servant or someone's honey? Sometimes I am just a person looking for a corkscrew.