Peek-a-boo by Daniel Johnston

This song means spring to me. It means driving down the road on a spring day with the windows down and the leaves coming back in light green and the smell of spring that I can barely remember now since New York's spring smells different than back home although it's just as beautiful. You notice all the green where in fall you forgot it and the white popcorn trees bloom on the sides of the streets near Washington Square and everyone is back on the streets with their dogs and babies. And it smells like those popcorn flowers and warm cement. Except New York's spring is sour just as she is sweet and includes rainy, half-wintery days where the wind whips around the buildings and kills you like it did that time with Miguel and Truman forever and ever ago when we smoked that blunt with keif the morning after I rolled and then I was too fucked up to go to drawing class and went to eat breakfast instead. We were walking to breakfast high as fuck when we turned this corner and were hit with a wall of wind. We all fell backwards trying to escape the wind's horrible powers. Yeah, that wind will get you. I miss everything that's ever happened. Well, maybe not really. But there are small moments of every one of my past lives that was good. That was a good moment with Miguel and Truman even though things got bad. And then good? I don't know.

Where am I going, where have I been?