Corsica on the Rocks

Oh, and you might want to book it, said our friend of a friend in Nice; who let us crash on her origami French hide a bed; we were two tired lead pots in a hammock last night in Rebekahs apartment that overlooked hills sutdded with lights and laundry on the line, stars studded with sky. The landscape is 3D in Nice, with rocky pebble beaches with waves that smack your ankles with rocks. The ferry was leaving at 215 and at 201 we went to the ticket coutner; through surprised looks bought tickets and boarded the most giant boat I have ever seen. It was the Titanic, with an escalator. For 17 euros we sat on the sundeck and watched Nice slide away. I even stood near the edge and said, I'm flying, Zack! - get it? jack? zack? Our woof host Felipe greeted us in Corsica with a pipe hanging out of his mouth. Oh, he said, you are tall, and we pakced into the back of his Dodge Rabbit-like trunk already piled with groceries and our bags. A long and nauseating ride into the mounta&ins of Corsica ensued and I fought off migraines by smiling at the cows neslted into the side of the road. We made it, Stepped out into night sky, the oldest stone; most worn into a hill farm house where everything criculates: language, food, bedrooms.