A big green sign roused another recollection in me "San Francisco 87 Miles". This historical city exercised a quite special charm on you. I have always promised to you, we would drive sometimes there, however, there was another argument over and over again not to do it. Once we had already planned the trip, had picked out the route, booked the hotel. You had packed the suitcases and waited for me, because we still wanted to drive off in the same evening if I came from the work home. During that day the hell was wrong in the gallery. Franklin had changed plans sometimes again behind my back for a project and thus had upset my appointment plan completely. So I worked till the small hours to sort the mess somewhat. When I came thus against 12 home, I saw the suitcases standing in the hall. Only there I remembered again that we wanted to go, actually, to San Francisco. You saw with a glass of wine in the pool and stared at the water. I came up to you, wanted to apologize, however, you said only: "Forgot it!" I knew very exactly how is disappointing you were and also that there was nothing what I could have done to ask you for forgiveness. I was sorry so endlessly, because I knew, how much I had hurt you with it. And exactly now I can feel this pain again. More and more becomes conscious by me that I have done not only a mistake, but that there were countless situations in which I had injured you and had been disappointing. What is still frightened me, however, more the fact that I had forgotten all these things that I am ignored your pain. Unconsciously I had projected my displacement of negative events also on you, almost had required that you should handle also with it. I am sorry in such a way, Tina. I promise to you, we will go to San Francisco, you and I if there should even be the slightest chance in addition.

Suddenly it shot like a flash in my head: I had not already heard "Venice on the Beach" how long to these names, had read or finished speaking even. The name hammers "Venice on the Beach", "Venice on the Beach", "Venice on the Beach" – again and again in my head. This was the hotel in we at that time with our weekend trip had spent the night. Now I have a purpose, because if I am already on a past trip, my purpose of the past should also come close very much. "Venice on the Beach Hotel" is sweet, small 2 stars hotel directly in Santa Monica Pier. There is in picturesque scenery, before it the white sandy beach, lined by endlessly many small shops of a miles long promenade. The best place for long walks.

It has become evening and I leave the Interstate 5 directions Santa Monica Boulevard. Suddenly closeness steals over me as I did not feel them long any more. I was at home and here, nevertheless, everything was so unapproachable, foreign thus as if one knows all that only from a dream. In this time one hardly sees private cars on the street. One goes with a taxi in the restaurant, to friends or a party. Thus one can enjoy calmly the evening and comes certainly also again home. I am tired, the journey was strenuous and arduous, so many recollections, I feel so many deadly believed feelings and now infinite grief. My head is empty not to catch a clear thought any more in the state. What always I do here what always I also plan here, why always I have also gone here, I should not do it today any more. No more words, no sentences, no pictures, everything is empty as if I was in a dark empty room whose walls seemed to move, the closer I came to them, from me away. Sleep, I must find sleep, tomorrow if I am rested, I will have my thoughts again, she will be able to sort and act what must be done always now.