A Postcard from Simon (West Coast)

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Late arrival from Los Angeles - must've got stuck in the mailbag.

Very laid back, not quite Hotel California; it's more like The Hissing of Summer Lawns up here in the Hollywood Hills. A yellow butterfly landed on my tummy, stretched, spread itself like a tattoo, then off it flew.

OC was hot and humid; choking and binding we wowed the the Cali crowd; pretty tanned girls with beach blonde hair, dark boyfriends.

Hotter in Tucson, we played in a desert wind blow-drier. Big ole beetle crawling across the stage; watched to safety by Nick as I slid it under the drum riser.

On Tuesday I went to the Zuma - spindrift sea. I swam cold in the Pacific ocean, surrounded by the tiny white carapaces sloughed off by tiny crustacea. They marked the high point of the tide with a crumbling white crust. Out at a distance - dolphins, or maybe pilot whales. Ashore, the hawk hovers before its stoop. God I love this life.

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