Friday night, cool jazz and hot coffee on patios under a waning moon, ghost stories, and art talk. Decoding American Pie late into the night which brought about thoughts of Babylon. Ordered the original short story on Amazon as a result. The Place of the Gods still lingers, a steel and concrete memorial. Post-Apocalyptic literature causes strange dreams. A stitch in time saves nine, what does that mean? Can I Google it? When did Google become a verb, when was it not? Saturday sunburn, Chic Habit, Tarantino and Anthony Bourdain. Legs the color of cherry tomatoes. Frozen margaritas to cool the burn, homemade tortillas and chili peppers. Oklahoma sunsets. Honky Tonk angels took flight that night, above the dive bar filled with cockroaches and whiskey soaked cherries. Sunday morning slowly comes around then jump starts to the future in a dark theatre, the smell of butter popcorn all around. Lunch in a turquoise Pho house, savory broth and noodles to ease away your thoughts, Vietnamese coffee is ambrosia. Cambodian zombies ate frozen yogurt filled with fruit, while hot and tired bodies discussed Murakami. Suntea caught the evening light, setting fire to the lemon discs inside. African literature paired with Queen singing an intro for the night. Monday always comes too soon.