Sunday February 04th 2007, 8:16 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Love Letters

To the Frosty Queen,

The smell is rather feral and mimics the tainted color of its walls. From the outside, the Frosty King hamburger restaurant seemed like a beautiful contrast to the sweltering heat of the California desert– an oasis and refuge from the brutality of the sun’s punishment for my current inhabitance. There are two arcade games conveniently placed in front of the fire exit as if to mock the seriousness of an actual fire. Archaic renditions of Atari 2600 video games continue to call out to the Frosty King’s patrons, yet no one wants to jostle the joystick, if you know what I mean. As I entered the Frosty King’s front doors, the irony of my stop became clearly evident and I was greeted with the same temperate climate as I had experienced in the desert. The Frosty King had falsely advertised on their road-way sign, a promise of a delicious cool treat. Yet even though the Frosty King was a building-sized oven, its ice cream machine could miraculously still deliver scrumptious treats to those who could stand the infernal heat. This I found to abnegate any assumed notion by way of contrast to their road sign, and relinquish the responsibility of the Frosty King to cool my sweaty brow with air conditioning. I ordered an Oreo cookie milkshake and sat in the corner next to the Mrs. Pac Man machine. As I gazed outside the window to a sun that is setting, my worries about the heat lesson and I begin to contemplate the journey still ahead. I’ve driven two hundred and fifty miles from San Francisco and have another one hundred and fifty miles more to travel. Today is the beginning of an end, as well as the beginning to my new beginnings. The space between two cities is a vortex, or synthesis, past and present, as well as a giving or moving towards a future. Similar to the way in which one can never be naïve, as one can never begin, but one is always beginning, my destination is neither an end point nor a future projection. The expansive presence of something that is beginning conflates into the territory of some that is ending, where one can no longer distinguish between the two concepts. My question for you: “Where does the ocean begin, and where does the beach end?” yet the rhetoric of such questions only brings us further from the more grounded presence of life: the smell inside the Frosty King is odious, the price of the Motel Six next to the Frosty King costs $31.99, or the concrete table outside is broken. In my departure of your city, I proclaimed my final farewell to a city that has dejected me from its amorous bowels. The song playing from my IPOD was inappropriate to my departure, and thusly I turned the entire radio off and drove away in silence. Yet in my mind, I bid you a fond farewell, and blew you a kiss to your lips as I crossed over the Bay Bridge. From the foggy shores of San Francisco, until I reach the smoggy hills of Los Angeles, you can count on my thoughts being forever focused on our love, which never made it through the months of our marriage. It is 6 hours of “would be’s” and “could be’s,” yet I’ve already driven more than half way to my destination. With you in mind and an Oreo cookie shake in my hand, I will continue my journey southward to return to the land of the lost angels. As the sun deserts the desert, I too shall depart the from the feral Frosty King.

-The Frosty King.

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