It was a long drive, he thought, but it didn't feel that long. Only after highlighting it on a map did it look long, but as it was, it felt like it was just one big heap of travel and it left him weightless. And everything feeling clear and airy makes people say stupid things.
It wasn't that none of it was true, rather it was that he knew he'd forget about it by morning, or in a month. He didn't want to, but he would. It was inevitable.
He'd promised a friend he'd come back to help him in a business undertaking for which he was particularly skilled. Hiking, specifically. They'd weave paths along the coasts on a plot of land his friend had bought, and they'd lead people around on the cliffs. They'd save kids from leaning over too far to glimpse the sea lions. The ocean would spray these same children and they would giggle and their parents would smile and everyone would have their money's worth.
His friend called. Kevin.
Hey, buddy, what you doing? When are you leaving to come back?
Soon, man. Gotta make some money.
Cool, cool. Well, I'm goin out tomorrow to scout it out. Fog's bad.
Good luck. Tell Frieda hello. (Frieda is a yellow lab).
Later.
He'd never make it back there, because he didn't like the fog, and because he didn't like hiking, and because he didn't like people.
And because he'd never be satisfied sitting still, though he may lose everything to his own desire to leave, leave, leave. Don't stay. Don't remember. Forget.
He got in his car and drove the opposite direction of which he was parked.
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