Every journey begins with a single male.
Each day is another opportunity to sift nuggets, gazing up at the brilliant vista while your socks slowly soak up the effluence of humanity's stunning hypocrisy and your looming extinction. Someone once described street performance as instilling a homesickness for freedom in the lives of ordinary men
NY Times April 20/2004.
I read that on a plane so I'd like you all to squirm in your seats with irrepressible jealousy. Yes that's right, A PLANE.
Funny how being jammed amongst strangers in a metal egg projectile, having abdicated all control over your immediate physical survival has any relationship with the concept of 'freedom' but there it is. I don't make the rules.
I'm just an ordinary man. But wait, I'm a street performer…phew saved.
I am traveling from NY to London, London to Madrid, Madrid to Granada.
My luggage travelled from NY to London.
My luggage is fiercely independent, I've tried packing it into submission but its useless, my stilts just have to stop sometimes, propped up incongruently against some wall deep inside an airport, soaking up the curious glances of men wearing overalls. But this time they have seduced the rest of my luggage as company, all of it, every clean socked and sweatless shirt and toiletbagged piece of it.
Still, less to carry as here I now am in Grenada, its 6.04 am and I'm in a 2 star hotel and the building's powers out and my battery's running low so I'll just go out now at the peak of my good fortune.