Dirty Laundry

We are taking a trip. Myself, Tara, and two men from my work, Kyle and Vince. We are walking on this trip and make it about thirty miles away when I say, let’s just take a bus or something because its faster. Vince gets mad and He and Kyle separate from us (witch I am glad for). We go to the bus station, we go to Florida, where I used to live, we are then in another place, at hotel. Its not florid I don’t think. I look out the window, I see a blurry but familiar scene.

Beautiful River that runs beneath the place we stay in. It makes me un easy, Like I have dreamed of it before but never have seen it in real life, and perhaps that dream was a bad one. It seemed like there were painful memories beneath those seemingly beautiful, placid, waters.

I walked outside to a spillway that fed the river, there was dirty laundry in the water, old coats that I wanted to look at, many of them were bight green and the were also dirty mops lining the floor of the spillway that let to the river below. The water here was so dirty but the water below was so clean. Tara calls to me so I leave it. On my way I find old match box cars and micro machines in shelves made of dirt.. They remind me of more memories, perhaps from my childhood.