My initial dropoff in Marrakesh was just what I thought it would be. Orangey desert with a sparse grid of olive trees and vegetables. The plane landed on a small dirty runway and customs was a breeze. Met an american photo journalist on the plane. We stood together on the tarmac watching the baggage being unloaded, from about a meter away, then went inside where we waited for half an hour to see it slide around a dusty carousel. Right. That's pretty much the algorithm for everything in this country.
On my way out of customs Vanessa's yellow blur came at me from the left, apparently making it passed my peripherals. Tackled. She's the same mustard yellow blur she was six years ago, which is an utterance I never thought I'd utter.
HHHHHHOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLDDDDD UUUUUPPPPPP
Harper has just blessed me with an internet phone. F you skype, you d-bag. I have my own goddamn Washington phone number in Morocco.
eat it.
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