lost a pair of shoes in luminara and now i’m here
woke up this morning thinking about how i was the exact same temperature as the sun. 37.25 degrees. feels like someone took a hairdryer and aimed it at the sky. glad i packed shorts, but if you’re coming here, don’t bother with hydration. pain in the ass.
people here are like if your grandma walked into a tech startup. grandma with a literal bone to pick. i heard that the café on main street serves the best black coffee by day and meth by night. definitely taking that on faith. if you get stranded, don’t listen to the taxi driver who said luminara has a secret underground pool. he was probably just watching real estate deals on his phone.
i took three photos of the same dumpster today. one had a parrot in it. it stole my sandwich. if you’re reading this and you’ve had a sandwich stolen by any bird, please send help.
someone warned me that the art place downtown has fake mirrors that show you alternate universes. that’s probably a lie. but i’m here to tell you that the ‘friendly local’ who set me up with her surfboard had a tattoo of a scorpion eating a computer. priorities, i guess.
i just realized the weather app says the humidity is 10%. that’s not possible. i smell like a wet towel that forgot it was wet. okay, maybe that’s just me. if you want to meet someone who’s less sweaty, hit up the bookstore on el latte. they sell pressed flowers and revenge poetry.
there’s a review on tripadvisor that says ‘luminara is a prison for lost tourists.’ i don’t know if that’s exaggeration or if they found a bag of expired popcorn. go figure.
if you want to live like a local, borrow a bike from the station near the old train tracks. they’ll probably ask for your name in esperanto. don’t sweat it.
you’ll see the map below, but if you’re here, you already know the way. it’s all one big neon-lit maze. if you’re lost, ask the guy in the clown hat near the market. he charges admission in hash browns. that’s my new currency.
i’m not sure if the name luminara is supposed to sound inviting. it doesn’t. but here we are. if you’re coming here looking for romance or enlightenment or a good Wi-Fi signal, you’re gonna need to leave. but if you just want to see someone cry into a soda can and laugh about it, you’re in the right place.
someone said the bodega on corner street has a secret menu. i’ve yet to find it but i’ve heard the third drink on the menu has been reported to give you visions. good luck.
if you need to find me, i’ll be the only person using a paper map. i taped it to my leg at some point. it’s probably full of wasp stings and regret.
p.s. if someone asks about my shoes, tell them they’re in a thrift store near the lighthouse. probably cheering on a disintegration.
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