Scattered— well, I suppose the more appropriate term is ‘sprawled’—across my bed is my kiteboard bag. A lone rash guard peeks out from a pocket. There’s a suitcase by the wall, one
Continue readingLast night, checking into the hotel in El Paso, there was no sense of relief, the thankfulness that I used to feel when I was on trips in Hawaii, where overnights were my escape from Crash Pad Life. Landing
Continue readingI’m a firm believer that no one should claim permanent residency at a hostel. It’s just not a home. Same with a flight attendant crash pad. It’s just not normal to only live at
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