Sunday, August 6, 2017

los angeles lately: pt. 6

I'm growing to love Los Angeles after one a.m.

There's a tragedy to it. To all of the ones who care enough to see her when the rest of the world sleeps. 


From the window,  I see a woman with pink stihelletos. She has her arm wrapped around the waist of a man, and I watch as his hand falls lower and lower. 

Another man close by sings a sad song as we pass him, and I catch his eye because the night is abnormally cold and he will be singing in the same spot until morning.



You and I talk about Hollywood. 

Why does it always come back to the damned place? 

We drink to escape it, 

drink because we're in it, 

drink to it, 

pack our bags or shed our tears because of it.

We both agree that it's tragic.

The whole of it.

But you're from here and you're a man, so you offer me a new perspective.

One that is skewed differently.

Perhaps the locals see this place with more of a peripheral outlook.

While those like me see the whole thing like a wave that can't be stopped,

not even as it crashes into the hills. 



The car goes well over the limit, 

faster with every flickering green light down La Cienega. 

Speeding through West Hollywood only because the lights and time are in our favor, and isn't that when time flees fastest?

When we finally find the favor we ache for. 

When invincibility is at its peak.

All consequences set aside because why not?

The light has yet to reveal what we tell ourselves isn't true. 



In the distance is the downtown. 

And, in the back of my mind is an old song.


This whole city feeling like the entire world.


So I piece everything back together and hope the morning brings a picture I can fathom, 
one that won't hurt so bad. 

One I can look at evenly, 

like a memory of a name I can finally forget.

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