This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 22nd, 2012 at 5:02 am and is filed under A Luna Blued. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.
Union Station, Three AM… still some dues to pay. The drug of dreams beckoned, again… “Welcome to L.A.”
I was home. Back from a few lost days soaked in musky halibut tomatillo stew at Ensenada Joe’s. Where dark sad memories of a little sister lost there overpowered the strippers’ “Que paso?” ‘s.
As I slipped back into L.A.’s heat, I felt my old friend, doubt, at my side… telling me “Give it up. Stop trying. She’s not alive.” And I felt that tickle on the back of my skin, that knowing that I was a hack. And that Aggie was lost in the city’s angels that hovered in the mist above the lights with wings that were singed and black.
Rhea.