The day started with silence. Always silence. I mean, you sleep with silence so it would make sense that it's silent until you get up and start banging stuff around. I do that a lot, but that usually happens after a few minutes of waking up.
My name is Lennon Garrett. No, not after John Lennon. Hell, I didn't even know who John Lennon was until someone asked me one two many times if he was my name sake and I became compelled to look him up. Maybe I should be named after John Lennon. He looks pretty cool.
I started driving in Palo Alto, California. I don't really have a destination, I was just driving because I'm lonely and in my early 20s. My brother and I always planned that when we were lonely and in our early 20s (mid 20s for him) that we would drive somewhere. Go on a road trip and find ourselves, just like Eat, Pray, Love. Okay, I have to confess, I don't know what Eat, Pray, Love is about either. How about a less extreme Into The Wild, eliminating the dying at the end. Or so I hope, we'll have to check up on that dying part later.
I was driving through town this morning looking for a place to eat and saw a bra. On a statue. And my initial thought was, "oh hey, there's a bra on a statue" but after a moment of looking, and pondering, and processing, I realized that, "OH MY GOD, WHERE IS ATTICA?!"
I parked my car and ran up to the statue. When I was 16, my best friend, Attica, and I took some bras, hung them places and took pictures of it. It was a grand idea -- the peak of our creative capacity at the time. I hadn't talked to Attica in over five year, neither of us know why, but this was huge. This statue was the beginning of my Eat, Pray, Lo--, oh sorry, Into The Wild adventure. This is why I did it, right? To find myself. Attica was a part of me.
As I examined the bra more closely I saw no recognizable features to the bra itself or the way it was hung. A little disappointed I returned back to my car and sat there. I should do something. These words have been said a lot in my 24 years. I should do something.
So I drove down the road, found Collingwood Heights, and applied for an apartment.
"One room apartment?" the guy behind the desk asked as he handed me the paperwork.
"Yeah, top floor is preferable," I said.
"Sorry, but it's being renovated currently."
"Okay, second to the top is fine too."
It's so easy to get an apartment nowadays, I've realized. 20 minutes ago all I was looking for was a sandwich and now I'm living here. Sure, I'm not living in an abandoned bus, but this'll do for now.