There are days when I think of Arashiyama. The water was warm as I stepped in, toes slipping on mossy rocks. I waded deeper, dodging boulders, my blue shirt floating around me. 250 more words
Tags » Creative Non-Fiction
I think he thought it was a taxi.
I guess that also means that he thought I was a taxi driver.
Apparently this happens a lot in Los Angeles – not people mistaking Toyota Priuses for taxis – Andy Dick trying to get in people’s cars. 49 more words