Emil White

A Trip to the Henry Miller Memorial Library

We were so thirsty. 

Two of us had flown from Austin to San Francisco the day before, where our best friend picked us up in a Google-rented Chevy Impala. Three girls reunited, we drove for hours that passed like seconds, stopping for oysters and champagne in a tiny restaurant that floated off a dock in the middle of the Monterrey Bay.

After lunch I hung my body over the edge of the pier, looking straight to the bottom of the sea. The sun was warm, so we peeled off our jackets and screamed that we couldn’t believe we were here. What a California day, with children running like the sandpipers on the beach.