Mock Postcard

to prepare some special recipients of cards they may or may not receive while I'm gone, i've decided to publish this little seen writing exercise, generated for my secret writing group: (pen has yet to do hers, and we are all breathless in anticipation.)

dear gang,
(insert sterotypical comment on surroundings.) I'm in the awesome little cafe. (Insert emotional outburst about traveling.) Everyone else seems to belong here except me. Mostly bcs they all have an air of purpose. These people on this fucking tour are driving me nuts. It's like I'm in this cartoon and I keep imagine horrifying stories of peril involving every one of them... except they all wash out to sea and leave me here to have a good time. Oh, man, I'm awful. If this is the only record of me and my time here I'll just die. Thank god this is 5x6. Ok, there's this guy and he's smoking a cigarette, wearing flared jeans and pointy shoes. And a girl with a gold bag, I wish I ever felt self-possessed enough to wear or is rather non-possessed? I don't know. Though maybe I'm the girl who goes around hugging trees and putting my hand to anciet 1000 yr old stone. i know I'm that girl. But am I the girl who's observed doing such things which will endear me to the one and only nonattached hot guy on the tour. I don't know. At least I don't feel lonely. I feel like though I could just evaporate onto the stones and these old church walls and the old women with these superbly lined faces... and the goat tied by the tree. Shit out of room- one more thing. Better to adventure than only dream.