Hot black coffee is my liquid portal to a transcendent morning.
I found myself walking through high dry grass over the Altamont. A car was parked on a dusty access road, all four doors wide open. The seats were ripped up. Multi-colored wires dangled from the steering column. I found Polaroids of naked Asian women and poems handwritten on torn sheets of binder paper under the front seat.
And there was a stack of Sonic Youth 45's in sealed wrappers in the glove compartment.