Jet Streams

You return to Marseille and wait for your friend. War and Peace encapsulates you. She finally arrives with warm embraces and you hear her story of falling in love in Togo.

The next day she shows you around Marseille after having lunch with insanely nice friends of her’s. You see five jet streams in the air that slowly expand into clouds before dissipating.

Even though her school in Barcelona already started your friend shows no hurry in getting there. Her calm amazes your overly organized self. At night you climb a fence at a park and sit on a cliff edge sharing whiskey as the sea licks the rocks. You and others talk of constellations.
You both feel the change in the other, but can still find what made you friends in the first place.

One night in a square where everyone is drinking you start to feel sick but the sight of two guys on a date warms your heart. You start to crave the smiles, the retelling of stories and the connections made with a new love interest.

You wake up sick but still go to the sea with her and sunbath on some rocks. Fighting a fever you get medicine as you both prepare for the bus to Barcelona. Fighting a fever on a bus is so fun. On arriving in Barcelona you wait a few hours for a friend of her’s to find you. Your fever makes you irritable and you regret snapping at her. After going to the wrong hostel you find yours and quickly fall asleep waking up feeling just fine.

Friendships are a little like jet streams in the sky. There are always changes, the streams streaking across the sky of our past, but as we move on the changes dissipate into the infinite blue and it is as if nothing has happened.



Walking through Rennes is like walking through time. All the same shops are there and the city is still filled with an insane amount of young, well dressed attractive people. You see all the places where you had experiences that made your 17 year old self. While Rennes hasn’t changed you start to finally see how you have.

Talking with one of your best high school friends you can almost see the last three years in the cigarette smoke. The time appears than dissipates, leaving the most important thing, your friendship. Of course you get drunk with him, after all it had been three years since you’ve last seen him.

The next day you see your old host sister after five years. She is still beautiful and sweet and after you take some time to yourself to read in one of your favorite parks in the world you two let the smoke of years past flow in-between one another.


After another park day you find three out of four of the most important friends from France infront of you. One came from out of town to see you, fleating memories of when you used to call yourself an artist float by as you two talk art like you used to. You reconnect with the past yet again through a galette.

You go to have dinner at your old host family’s. The little sister is strikingly beautiful now, not the same gameboy playing tomboy you knew. The elder sister is joyfully pregnant while the parents are the same. When the parents start talking books with you you remember how books and movies were the main topic of conversation amongst you three. Funny stories pass between smiling lips.

The last night is spent with one of your best French friends. It is a textbook I am about to leave conversation. Death. Orgasims. Youth. Farts. Beer. You both agree that the more you learn the more you realize you don’t know.

Upon leaving your heart really feels as if it swells as you think of how you have such great friends. You prefer not to think about how you have no clue when you will see them again. Corny as it is Whinnie the Pooh enters your head.

“If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”


A man plays an ancordian in the park you are at. You laugh at the sterotype.
You walk the whole city, geek out at a church with muslim influenced archecture and try to get used to seeing white people everywhere and hearing a language you understand.
There is a church on the largest hill, so of course you have to go. It is one hell of a climb, but one hell of a view as well.
On your way down you stop at a park and watch as youth jump into the water from an old fortress. The birds in the bush infront of you start flipping out then wooosh a hawk flys into the bush and flys away with its prey. You stare agaped. No one else notices.

The hawk flys away as the sound of splashes and soft spoken French sway in the wind.




The traffic moves like intersecting streams that you calmly skip across. You perch at a restaurant like a crane on a stone as you gulp down 50 cent beer with a waiter whose name you can never possibly remember. As you walk through the $1 cigarette smoke you see buildings as old as the legendary 400 year old turtle in Hoan Klem lake. The people, the interactions the city all flow like water through time and space.