my tank is empty like a
confessional on monday. i hate the thought of stopping but my
left brain is kicking my head real hard.
real damn hard.
there’s a chevron on sunset and crescent heights,
you know the one.
its actually on the laurel canyon side,
but the thought of that windy snake of a road
annoys the hell out of me.
so shut it.
i havn’t had dinner and its well past
so with the gas i grab a bag of hostess snowballs. twinkie’s red headed
slip the cashier seven dollars and say,
“the rest on pump 5.”
i just need to get
home. plus my wallet seems to be anorexic
as of late.
while my toyota greedily gulps down the
to look at this strange deserted corner lit by the incandescent glow
of a smiling mcdonald’s sign across
the street. the wind howls. a car drives by.
the pump handle clicks a click at me but i’ve already opened my
feast. first things are always
first and with a shrug i bring the sugar mound
to my lips.
“lookin for a good night hun?”
just like that my meal is interrupted.
i quickly glance towards the voice and it belongs to
i knew i shouldn’t have chose the pump closest to the sidewalk
and that syphilis contracted bench.
“what you sorry for sugar?”
she has hair like a broom, skin like coffee, and
is wearing a dress
too small which
encourages rolls of flesh to try to escape their fabric prison. Its
some sort of animal print. leopard or cheetah
she smiles at me. a sort of sad, accepting smile.
a gold tooth that nods and tips its hat at me. and a
piercing on her upper lip.
“you don’t want nothing do you?”
her smile fades as the breeze whistles by,
catching the words
from her mouth.
i looked down, thinking: this city thrives on
rejection. it’s lifeblood.
am no different than these cowards
“i’m starving. you?”
i reach into my plastic bag and offer her my second
there’s that smile again. there’s that
waving at me.
we stand there looking out on
as the wind howls and the cars
grumble, and the
bums bum. wiping pink coconut and sugar off