
It was April, 2007. I hadn't talked to anyone in three dark London months. So, when spring came, back to Amsterdam I went. Actually, Amsterdam was just an aside for a few days until I caught a plane to Barcelona. Or so I thought...
Let's just say that:
a) I never went to Barcelona. Instead, I spent two weeks chillin on the back porch of a surf spot in Noodjwick talking to some of the coolest people ever (all detailed in my sketchbook, "The Necklace"). One of whom was Richard. Don't ask about the night Richard, Buddy (the only nineteen year old fisherman from Alazka I've ever met), and I had our own collectively seperate adventures...
b) From New Zealand, Richard just happened to be walking down the street in Cheshunt a few weeks later, the very same night I met Maria. He had just moved to London. Needless to say, several adventures ensued (including my introduction to Mexico City).
c) As I just re-discovered this drawing, I just happened to be listening to the Manu Chao song that kept playing over and over during the entire two weeks.
Hmm. Coincidence? Or, a confluence of events that makes me shudder in the shadow of it's significance...