St. Patrick's Day, and I'm just shy of 500 miles away from home. Flying into San Diego is always eye-catching, especially when the weather is fine, and that's most of the time.
This is a Mediterranean city, warm and green in pockets, fiery and bereft of vegetation in others. Every October I hold my breath. A year and a half now, and lots still lie empty. Some gave up. Others rebelled and rebuilt. Live in a fire zone, wake with the consequences.
Oh yeah, and baby: I miss you too.
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