the unscripted wing

I had always liked the color red. Never for a particular reason. It was just a good solid color, strong and feminine but not girly. It was as if it were the grown up version of pink. And I never did like pink.

But right now with legs splattered and hands dripping with the color, I was quite content never seeing it again. We had painted nearly everything in the bright and bold tint; the fence, the shutters, the merry-go-round, and even part of the play ground if I remembered correctly. We ourselves were nearly completely covered in it; a mixture of water and turpentine making any hopes of cleanliness worthless. I let it sink in though, feeling the comfort of being an empty canvas, the beauty of being messy and veiled in paint brought me back to my artist roots and cluttered studio. I feel a bit more complete smothered in colors.

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At long last, here we were.

After almost a week of eating tacos from little Mexico and sleeping in a strip mall church in Gainesville, one crowded bus ride to Atlanta, one night in a very colorful homeless shelter located smack dab in the heart of the city, an easily forgettable flight to New York City with the obvious 11 hour layover, a long, semi-awkward and shy nine hour flight to Warsaw, Poland including a nine hour layover adventure and another hour and half flight we had finally arrived on the awfully early morning of September 13 without sleep in Bucharest, Romania; home of our first month on the Race.

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