Sancho Panza occupying a Mahonese jail cell on a dodgy drink driving rap, I set off alone into the warm night air. High on Jaleo horse sweat and Pomada I rode my trusty 125cc steed out into the campo, together we chased down the modern windmills (I found no dragons or cause for concern). I have read the signs provided to me by the sweet island serendipity, the scarred rocks, geological palmistry, the Iberian runic blessings drawn by ancient finger tips on the pamments beneath our feet. They sing a song that glints like a golden tooth in the afternoon sunlight, a song to trust what you know to be necessary and worthy of effort. Do what you do with a full and happy heart, do not chase money or fame.
Por la carretera, por la corozon.
No comments:
Post a Comment