Bertucci's on Main St.

**DISCLAIMER** This is a horrible unorganized rambling YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!

Quaint. Cozy. Mafioso. What more can I say? Yesterday I spent my afternoon sipping Sicilian Sangiovese and munching on fresh bread and salad whislt engrossed in Kerouac's "Big Sur". This is the girl I remember. She cares not if anyones knows her, she only wants to relax and spend her time doing the things that truly make her who she is. She is a poet, a complex tattered soul that merely wants to find her place in this world.

Christi is in rare form today, leaping from her booth at the front of the room to greet her with a contagious smile and a fresh copy of Rolling Stone.

I am a writer. It is what I do. I sit. I observe. I reflect. Now begins her life anew.

It's a lonely life being the introvert she is. No one understands, but if they did, she would not exist.

There is no peace, for with peace comes apathy, and with that, not a whole lot to write about.

This is good. This is really good. She has no need for daily static - she has begun to see the truth beyond the fringe.

1/2 carafe, what was she thinking? Unable to put away such a greedy amount of vino, she leaves Christi a nice tip and discusses the Kinks as she walks out the door into the warm spring Andover afternoon. Next stop: Acceptance.