Well, it's safe to say that the rabbit has outlived everyone's doubts, including our own. Though I'll never fully understand why, Matt has always had a deep attachment to this car. That's why I'm sure it was difficult this morning for him to sign the title over to Dennis. Unsure how to accept such a generous and meaningful gift, Dennis repeatedly suggested that he would gladly turn it back over to Matt, should he return soon. With both a sigh, and a determined glance, Matt refused, else he could never truly make the separation. Despite being but a minor material thing, retaining ownership of the car would prevent him from making a full emotional shift to Australia. I think I understand this reasoning. However, I thought the whole point of our road trip was to IMPRINT emotional attachments before he left.

We took Dennis' new rabbit convertible down to Venice Beach - a place which instantly reminded me of NYC's Canal Street, were half of it sand and the remainder filled with dead-head, pot-smoking hippies. Though, apart from the occasionaly waft of patchouli oil, the place definitely smelled better than Canal Street, whose open fish markets create an unfair comparison. Packed with street musicians, artists, palm readers, heavily-guarded photographer-safe tent-sitting shamen, it attracts a large crowd of bikini-sporting beach-going shoppers and show-offs. We stopped to admire some of the artwork, and gawk at some of the oddities.

From the loft	Letting it go	Dennis signs the title...	One last drive through Malibu
Giant Mexican	Venice Beach	There's some wierd people out here	...some SERIOUSLY wierd people
Alien scrap metal sculpture	Wow...	Mini aliens	Bobba Fett!!

LAX Airport, from which Matt will be leaving, is actually right next to a beach where you can have bon-fires. So we collected the firewood we never had a chance to burn for lack of camping, and headed down to spend the evening there. The kindling, for no significant reason, included the pages from an old extra road atlas we found in the car. The one we used to navigate for our trip was my new one, and I'd never consider parting with it. It was strange to watch the miles of road and lists of cities we'd just spent three weeks traveling go up in a bright flame in less than a minute. We saved a couple key places to toss in afterward, namely Chicago, which offered us nothing but congestion.

The sun was going down right over the beach, and every few minutes, another jet plane would take off from the airport beyond the hill, and fly overhead into the sunset. It was kind of touching to see, because as the hours wore thin, so did our thinly guised expressions: ever aware of the finality of the moment fast approaching. Towards the end, I could feel the lump in my throat, successfully swallowed for three weeks, getting larger and impossible to ignore. Breaking away from the group, I finally got my opportunity to speak openly with Matt about his leaving, and of all the pent up feelings we've never talked about. It was difficult to talk, so I was very glad we had that chance to do so, with waves breaking at our feet, fires flickering to our left, and the last shards of sunlight flickering to our right. When we get to the airport, there would be neither the time nor the privacy for last minute goodbyes.

Kenny brought some funiture, and kept our fire going. The flames roared as the false-wood binder of the MDFB shelf released its toxic and colorful fumes. Our giant and short lived fire outshone all others on the beach that night.

Kindling map	Riding off into the sunset	The beach next to LAX	Is it sinking in yet?
Brothers	Waiting for it to get dark	Deep orange sunset	Sunset silhouette
Overhead	Reminders every five minutes...	Growing flame	Shooting sparks!
Swirling	Don't need THIS anymore...	We had the biggest fire on the beach tonight

There was never a possibility of changing his mind. But, I am both glad and proud that he's found something so true to hold onto... So begins the nagging self-doubt of "what could I have done differently," and "why couldn't I convince him to stay," or "was he pulled there or pushed..." But really, none of that is necessary, and no such question even deserves the dignity of an answer. Now, I'm not so presumptuous to think that in a short paragraph I could sum this thing up, and settle everyone's feelings of loss with some contrived and flowery prose. But speaking solely of myself, I see no gain or even compensation in the self-torment of such questions, and would much prefer to imagine my brother having reached that unatainable ideal of our childhood fantasies: with the perfect girl, in the place where our Creator did some of his finest work.

"Take care of her..."

This was difficult...

Last one

Riding off into the sunset