“My eyes stick to all the shiny roses.”
We took that road trip to San Francisco, it was late Summer , or maybe it was early Winter, you and I, and the baby in the backseat. You picked up this album in that record store in Berkeley, and afterwards we shared a slice of pizza. She slept most afternoons in her stroller while we walked up and down the streets.
At night we would take her in when we played pool, or into that bar your friend owned. One night we wrapped her up and took her into the park where they showed movies on the side of the wall.
I think it may have been Casablanca.
For a blink of time we were a family, the three of us. On our way back from that trip we contemplated, albeit briefly, just staying. Sometimes I wonder if it would have made any difference.
Was all our “stuff” so necessary to come back for? Would we have had a fighting chance somewhere new?
Summer Babe (Winter Version) :: Pavement