Flickers of salt drenched hair that smells faintly sweet with the remnants of shampoo, bare toes clutching rocks to keep from falling into an ice cold river, flashes of red, green, and blue lights as people in sandals, ripped up shirts, and summer dresses have their own unique seizures to the drumming and strumming of the band. Piles and piles of glistening food, beer foaming over the top that spatters on your hand as you slam it into its carbon copy for a cheers, and family and friends all smiling and content. My mind would drift to these scenes when I trudged through dirty snow or was on my tenth try of trying to pick up a quail egg with my chopsticks. Little biased vignettes of a state of perfection; my California. I missed it dearly
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