” There was something sacred about those afternoons—pagan, it’s true, but sacred. The browner my skin turned, the more clearly I understood the sun truly is a god worthy of worship. Even with eyes closed I could see him. I felt him sink into me at the atomic level, infuse my cells as I drifted in and out of sleep, floated on pillowy clouds of sun-induced lethargy, head spinning with idle questions such as, Where are the records of all the things that never happened? and Why do hippies have big feet? and Is “self-referential” a self-referential word?”

We took a spur of the moment “holy shit it’s hot out” trip down highway 1 to Santa Cruz a week or so ago. Maybe I am welcoming skin… you know, more politely put as “damage”, but it felt so right burning the top layer of my now transparent SF hide. Call us guilty (at least Alex puts sunscreen on her nose, I treat spf like I treat the church.) We’ll continue singing sweetly to “She’s Only Happy in the Sun”, Ben Harper knows the strings to our souls.-AS