Where do dreams go when they die?
Well son of a bitch if I ain’t very boozed with two Americanos thrown on top in order to throw the Islamist boarding agents off my tail.
Yes, I’m headed back to the Middle East and it has been far far far too long. Very far too long but it feels like yesterday that I was doing this same exact dance.
I can’t tell you why I’m going, not to be needlessly secretive, only that I am and only to apologize.
The Middle East used to be my rising and setting sun. Now it is only part of my past with surf replacing.
But do any youthful passions ever actually get replaced? Where do dreams go when they die?
I don’t know.
If I did I’d be in that dream graveyard sleeping the dreamiest sleep. Feeling accomplished instead of failed. Living the unencumbered life exactly like Garrett McNamera or Erik Logan.
Well, c’est la vie as they say.
We are surf journalists now and proud but the past, rearing its head, can’t be ignored and that’s why I apologize to you because maybe it should be ignored. Probably it should be ignored but I ain’t nor will I ever.
Middle East über alles though I will catch you on the flipside, hundreds of thousands of miles from anyone who cares.
So long and God bless. Viva the youthful passions.
(Editor’s note: Chas will be writing when he can from Cairo and surrounds where he has been called on urgent personal business. Hopefully, all will, or can, be revealed in a week or so.)