Its 4 in the morning the light is still yawning and my eyes are sinking in Gin and Wine. The glare of the screen that I send music is making my head feel like hiding.
In the Maltese hotel, I hope you are well, but I don’t think of you often. I have been ending some work that has taken its toll and bed is the only answer.
I have to wait while music uploads and I send back through the water.
A small public house by the name of its owner is where we will be. Simon. We stopped of earlier. Its filled with junk and paraphernalia and the owner likes to dress as a British policeman.
Everything I write is coming through my head in the melody of Cohens Chelsea Hotel. Its actually starting to annoy me.
It will be hot tomorrow and I plan to write after I have swam in the ocean.