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1998
December
i'm selling my friend Becca's 1974, black and orange Vespa Primavera scooter.
the purpose: celebrate my birthday. the gang: a mash of my favorite pimps and hos. the result: an Andy Warhol-esque party scene and a whole lotta skin.
time once again to quickly reflect on who i've become and glance forward to where i'm going. time to take lessons learned and tuck them away in a neat little box. time to roll the number forward by one, drink a glass of champagne, and kiss the first girl who presents herself. no, it's not New Year's Eve. it's my birthday.
yes, it's over. i dragged it out far longer than i should have (again) but now i'm done. she was a wonderful, beautiful, incredibly bright and special part of my life that i will never forget. she changed me in ways i'm still counting and opened me up to deep and passionate love. but all the potential for greatness in the world doesn't do any good if the timing isn't right.
