First comes first... or whenever (open)
''San Diego, San Diego, San Diego...'' Sam whispered, carelessly covering the lower half of his face with shaving cream. ''Saint  Dee...'' He raised the razor, coming to a stop, barely modifying the plain of cream on his cheek realizing he didn't know the equivalent of Diego in English. Inhaling deeply, his movements still on pause, he recounted all the names he could remember that started with the letter D.Â
And for the next minute or so that Sam stood stagnant, staring at his doppelganger, nothing else seemed relevant. Nothing but finding a translation for Diego.Â
After the quake (and everything that unraveled afterwards), he grew to appreciate these moments of freedom where he could momentarily let go of his quandaries. Where still being sober, his mind could deeply preoccupy itself with completely unimportant...bullshit. But he was grateful for these little things life threw at him every now and then, these mini-nothings that blurred the bigger-everythings.Â
None the less, cramping bottled emotions tend to end up like a shaken soda can, and no sooner said than done, the cheap hotel bathroom Sam was shaving in ended up covered in metaphorical high fructose corn syrup. Though a smashed up wall and broken faucet must cost nearly half as much here than in The Grand Del Mar, he thought while covering his knuckles in bandages, I hope the goddamn bar at least has some decent boose. Â ''Hi my name's Diego... not Derek or Dick or Donald.'',he started once in front of the bar tender and out of his room. His face still unshaved and his look very unkempt he was determined to let at least one person realize how untroubled he is when it comes to recollecting the past. If he can't convince himself maybe he can persuade someone else.Â
