She steals one last look at herself in the round mirror just before the front door --
keys in her pocket,
card and identification tucked within a small purse slung behind her.
She nearly loses her footing down the flight of stairs as she walks down
with a hop in her step. This is why she chooses sneakers over heels even
in a glittered setting.
A driver out front.
The air should be cold at this time of year,
but she lives in perpetual summer.
He confirms their destination as she settles in.
And, they're off.
Slinking up and down Sunset is equivalent to losing oneself within an exhibit.
Billboards beside and above billboards, buildings and the night sky a gallery wall
of advertisement. When lights flicker red, all down the road, car lights mirror them, and
so from above one might assume that a red snake inhabits Hollywood.
The light turns green for two miles down the road, pang pang pang --
and they're off to the races, bursting through each intersection even when the light turns red once more.
The faster he goes, the more her vision skews,
colors blurring into colors. She looks up at the last of the buildings,
and Sunset winds around and down.
Outside restaurants, people are lined up, waiting to take part in the cool club.
Men and women alike wear sunglasses to match the blackness of the sky. Outsiders
think that shielded eyes are a litmus test of importance,
but she laughs at them from the backseat.
They speed past the corner of Sunset and Laurel,
and the cringe isn't so severe anymore.
Up ahead are flashing lights that cast a shadow on all the figures who pull the triggers.
She thinks that perhaps all the flash and lights is what blinds the world to the city's tragedy.
Take a picture of a portion, and call the whole thing enviable.
Remember, not all tragedy is ugly.
That's why they all stay.
The driver whips around to face the opposite direction, and, without thinking, she's off once more.
From the sidewalk she can hear the music vibrating against the walls of the bar.
It's a split second ordeal -- easing oneself into yet another social setting.
Inside, the room is warm and her head is quickly filled with the buzz of conversation.
Someone shouts into her ear, and she still asks for a repeat.
The liquor off his breath is sour,
the drink within her hand is numbing.
Familiar faces begin to pool in, and that is how she knows just how small
this town really is.
The longer she's here, the more she sees this city as a town, and this town as a home,
and this home as a reflection of her singularity.
He spills his beer upon the floor and she slips in it, catching herself on a corner.
Heads bob to music that no one really likes,
and someone she once kissed fails to kiss someone else.
She can feel the weight of the secrets within her, as she collects a few more in a night.
A thief of all the moments of those around her, she'll try to remember what they all hope or pretend to forget.
It smells like smoke and she asks him how to order scotch.
The denim jacket lies strewn in a corner,
and there is a man and a woman who need to leave already.
She looks at the time, and somehow tomorrow has already snuck in the door.
With reluctance she gives in to it,
letting it envelop her.
Eyes heavy, voice hoarse from talking over all the sounds.
Time steals her away,
tomorrow steals her away,
back down the hills of Sunset,
tomorrow faking like it was yesterday,
night playing both sides,
looking like an innocent nothing,
keeping everyone suspended until the last hour
when sunrise hits Sunset,
and everyone forgets.