Dreams.

June 7, Bridgeton.

This is my paradise, my little piece of heaven found.
Within reach of Philadelphia and my old home of Wilmington, a couple of hours from New York City, close to the ocean, green rolling hills and farmland all around, I'm salivating all the way down here and again on our drive to breakfast this morning, trying to figure out a way to find work here. We went for garage sales and I asked people about the area, and found out that there is a good elementary school north of town. It's working class, there are a lot of immigrants, a sizable African-American population, it's real, alive, I love it.
It is good to have dreams, especially impossible ones.