Day 3.

Coffee. Kombucha. The smell of sausage gravy.

He asks me what time I want to leave. I don’t really need to go.

More reading. Not enough time to write.

He wasn’t wrong.

No clouds in the sky today, which means everything feels just a little bit hotter.

Three days is too much.

Captivated by the beauty of Norah Jones.

But then, the silver lining to this is meeting them and genuinely hoping to run into them again, even though they live half a country away.

The Uber driver’s accent is thick. Very thick and German. He’s from the Black Forest, he says. “We make the best German wines there,” he says. I’m getting nauseous in the backseat of his Tesla. Teslas always make me feel nauseous.