clinging to the wreckage

  ‘Twas a weekend in San Diego… and, as always, my heart was captured by the place. From the bay to North Park, Little Italy to the Gaslamp quarter, Ocean Beach and back to the bay, beauty abounds, and the cultural and market diversity is astounding. Arriving on Thursday night, I took a $2.50 bus from the airport to my hotel in the bay, it was about a 10-minute ride, and I spent this time talking to a construction security officer from the airport who had just finished work. After check-in, as I was walking to my room, which was down a long and relatively dark corridor, I sensed someone walking behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw the silhouette of a lady with long hair wearing what appeared to be a horse-riding outfit. Without being able to see her face, I smiled and continued walking towards my destination. ‘How are you?’ asked a silky female voice with an Eastern European accent. It was the silhouette behind me. ‘I am well, thank you, how are you?’ I replied. ‘I am great. Ar