EastBAY.

Can't find jewels like these at a cheap price, and I couldn't begin to ask for a bargain.
I drove through hills and up hills and around hills, but never could find their names.
I saw tree lines and tree stumps and tree seats, but I never could find their roots.
Fog rushes around me like traffic on a friday evening and horns sound from eager drivers and fear-filled city men that then become aware of the sightless views in front of them.
This city where bridges never end and where hills always descend into segregated neighborhoods or districts I should say, that lead into bays of water and recyclable waste is where the lost ones go to find a their own.
People always say that City's never sleep, well, this one does well into 10:30AM and thats when the coffee shops begin to wake with their lines wrapped around their bay windows and bikers retreat to organic, locally owned breakfast nooks to rest before heading on their way to the hills for their daily ride.

The climate varies from foggy to soggy to sunny but the water crashes onto cliffs of rock that align the coast with  heated hearts and goose bumps from the crisp breeze. I was always one to look for bargains but this was a treasure I found that came at no cost, so I'll settle my bets and one day will head back left to where the bay awaits for my requests.


-M