It's been weeks since I've laid my head on my pillow yet the smells and sounds of Portland seem foreign to me and I feel no comfort as the plane touches down in my hometown. My motorcycle is there and my helmet wasn't stolen this time but as I ride off into the sunrise and achieve highway speeds something feels incomplete; like a peanut butter sandwich sans jelly.
I enjoyed my time in Los Angeles and Seattle before that and while I needed to get home to cash checks and pay rent my heart was left in Hollywood with a woman whose name is synonymous with precious. Sharing her bed, her falling asleep in my arms to the soundtrack of police sirens and yelling transvestites during those hot California nights.
I love traveling, eating different food and meeting new people but whenever I meet someone special it always saddens me to leave. My home is elsewhere but sometimes I feel it is nowhere at all. This townhouse is just where I receive mail and jury summons but my home is where I lay my head at night be it a rocky stretch of shoreline or a drab desert. Its the cities that get me. They lure me in with their twinkling lights and fancy new faces and I stay despite the catcalls of transvestites into the sunbreak of another day.
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