I’m filthy.

seriously.

and I stink.

’cause somewhere between here and the Med I lost my deodorant.

and I just haven’t picked any up.

I smell and I’m dirty.

from the photo, you might think that was one day’s doing.

it’s not.

I haven’t washed those over-sized sweats since I’ve started traveling.

and I’ve worn them everyday.

yes – what you’re thinking right now, ew.

ew is right.

but I got to the point where I stink and I’m dirty and I don’t mind it.

see, it rained yesterday.

and everyone was tip-toe tip-toeing over the puddles.

tip-toe tip-toe.

I just walked through.

I’m already dirty.

and I live in a dirty little motel room.

I stink and it stinks.

but I don’t mind.

you get to a point where you don’t care about what you look like.

and I’m at that point.

wait – does that sound like I’m depressed?

I’m not.

it’s liberating.

the homeless man who throws his feces at pigeons and preaches to pencils,

he’s free.

if his brown belt doesn’t match his black shoes, he’s okay with that.

and I’m okay with that.

I. am. here. to. see. some. shit.

that’s it. that’s all.

but I should probably shower.