I don’t remember the day. I don’t even remember why I was there. I don’t remember why I had come home to Berkeley.
I was in the local Kava bar. Because they have those here. Sitting on colorful couches beneath equally colorful lighting. A projector showing episodes of Planet Earth on the wall. A group at the bar shouts “bula!” And they all slam a small bowl of bitter, mouth numbing Kava.
