Wednesday, December 9, 2015


We lay in bed. It's a mattress on the floor. I've always liked a mattress on the floor. Sometimes I wonder if the floor isn't nature's best box spring. She kisses me. Tells me I'm not funny but that she likes me. I wonder if not finding me funny is essential to being attracted to me initially. Like we have to be taken seriously first before entertaining the alternatives. I wonder this as I'm getting up from off the mattress on the ground. I wonder it as we're saying goodbye. I wonder about it as I'm wondering why they always seem to be reconstructing every freeway on-ramp in Echo Park, always. I wonder nothing anymore driving alone down Figueroa at 2am, a championship parade of one. The Lakers won't be doing it for awhile. I might as well be celebrating something of my own, even if it's just a memory I have of once seeing The Phantom of the Opera downtown when I was a kid. I had never been inhabited by voices that loud and melodic. And the musical wasn't funny but I liked it.