i bummed my first cigarette last night, but i didn’t smoke it. i got it for joel, who was too shy to ask his fellow addicts, standing in the cloud of nicotine outside.
“it’ll make a good story for your website,” he said.
so, there you go. wasn’t that good?
we need to stop meeting like this, i thought, later on in the club, but the words didn’t come out of my mouth. so i smiled, hoping he’d notice, but i’m not sure if he did.
that’s when i knew i’d lived here a while: i keep running into people i know. shane at the dresden, armita at the coffee table, gina at the nuwilshire. how LA of me.
“hollywood is so trashy,” i told joel, driving down the boulevard past midnight. in the movies, you see red carpets and the hollywood sign. in the city, you see neon lights and dilapidated buildings.
at the corner, street punks sat in a row on the dirty pavement. a matching set of girls walked by.
“i hate you johnny,” yelled the girl in tan suede.
“come here,” he beckoned.
“no, you come here,” she shouted back. “why do i always have to come to you?”
she stopped yards away, waiting for him to come, but he never did.