1.29

Hollywood at night is either really sad or beautiful. Depends how you look at it; the lights, the sleepers on the ground, girls crying, attractions, guitars, stars, pink dresses, boots, hats, food and drink.  Sometimes I drink too much and take a cab home.  I will be home soon in bed.  I will wake up in six hours.  I'll be home in nine minutes.  I want fried potatoes.  I want food and drink.  I saw so many old friends tonight.  The driver enters the freeway.  This is where I lose service when I talk to my mother.  “Call me back,” she says.  “I can't hear you well,” she says. Then the line goes.  I pop my ears in the mountains, a ritual.  Everyone I know is in love.  I hear them talk about how the love will never end.  They open their mouths wide like the Queen of Hearts.  I believe them. I believe them because I am them.  We share a human heart.  We are holding onto bottles at night, onto car doors, onto doorways, onto each other.  We are holding on so tight.