right here

in los angeles the drives were long and spooky. everything was further than i thought it would be. you wind down the street listening to the radio and the DJ plays the same songs over and over again but you dont bother to tune into another station because after a while you kind of start to like them. i didnt use my turn signal much, it wasnt neccessary. its always just a right then a left then a hypnotizing stretch from point A to point B and then you are there. through beverly hills under the large, imposing trees and into bel air casing all the mansions. suddenly youre in torrance at a restaurant under the freeway selling some records over chicken caesar salads. then youre back on that freeway that changes into sunset boulevard then bleeds into hollywood all easy like.

i had a non smoking hotel room but i sucked em down anyway. rolled spliff after spliff and ordered room service, even drank the five dollar cans of heinekin in the fridge. at night the room would begin to stink from the mud of dead cigarettes at the bottom of all those empty beer bottles, so i hid my weed and dumped the ashes then let the cleaning ladies at it every afternoon. hotel rooms, they're like self healing wounds.

i cruised the boulevards one night. sunset. santa monica. hollywood and beverly. but there was nothing too sleazy, a few fake fantasies and a crackhead or two, but pretty tame otherwise, so called it a night after i clocked a few miles. i avoided the bars, knowing that after a day of whoring i wouldnt be able to bear the inane chatter of anxious strangers and i was afraid of the clubs because from the outside they looked haunted, with a thick, serpentine line of ghost waiting to get in. i just wasnt up for it, i wanted to be invisible, so i slid back to base after a nervous recon to smoked cigarettes and wonder where the trannies found their fix.

in san francisco the scene stayed the same as it ever was. everything fit loosely and the burritos were wet. i went back to ancient times then straight to the future all in one grind. i drank cold stoli on the rocks and this guy i was talking to kept referring to himself as a genius and then saying only another genius such as myself could recognize that. then he would do a line and i would do a line and i would forget what he was saying so he would repeat it all over again.

mike was in the corner with this cute sassy white girl that thought trust funds came with street cred and wore a camo bandana on her head like a badge. when the sun rose it was just me and him all hopped up on dialog confessing our love for one another and embarrassed but bold like we thought men should be. and we told each other that we were brothers forever again and again and again and when the cocaine and beer went dry he bounced out to his baby mama's house in his other baby mama's ride.

everything i am was there. i was gone for a minute. in another time in another city in another life that i lead.

and with one magnificent arc in the sky, i was transported back to where i belonged.