Nothing new here. Same old random brutal violence, stupidity and drunken angst. And then I got out of bed, wiped some magazine cologne across my chest in lieu of a shower, drove out to 1120 Catalina Ave and took an envelope of cash from under number 8's doormat.
Then I drove out to Sherman Oaks, Ca. to pick up my new girl: Tori from Detroit. She and her boyfriend are doing the cheap motel circut, having been homeless three months. When they can't afford a room, they sleep in thier stolen UHaul truck. I parked next to the Uhaul and waited for Tori to curl her hair using telephone cord and the heat setting on the motel air conditioner.
While I was waiting, I decided to check the motel rates to see if I could get a better deal than the one I have at The Patio Inn. I stepped into the motel office and asked the man behind the bullet-proof glass how much the weekly rates were.
"You have to move out after one dollar," was his reply, spoken with a thick Indian or Pakistani accent. I asked again, thinking I had misheard. He replied the same again, thinking I was deaf or stupid. Sigh. Back to my car.
Tori is a skinny 23 year-old blonde, blue eyed wunderkind whose chatterbox personality aligns perfectly with everthing she's ever read about her Pisces attributes: psychic, spiritual and disorganized. Her dad is Navy retired and she was the baby of the family. Her turn ons are...
I drove her to customer (john) Max the movie producer in secluded, rustic Topanga Canyon, then to a john in a crowded little squeezebox apartment in Santa Monica behind O'Brian's Irish Bar (which reignited my Russian angst as O'Brian's is directly across from a place Tatyana used to drag me to when we weren't chasing customers, a high priced dress shop called the Armani Exchange).
I know how long I am carrying a torch for any girl by how many days, weeks, or months I continue to read her horoscope after reading mine. While Tori was in the squeezebox, I picked up a free copy of the L.A. Reader and read Gemini after Pisces.
Then I drove Tori out to the rich side of Pepperdine University and napped in the driveway the hour Tori was 'servicing' some professor. Back to Tori's Sherman Oaks motel, then a quick run to Westwood to drop off Tori's agency fees.
Same old same old. Same old random brutal violence, stupidity and drunken angst. How about you?