I awoke to haphazard scratch marks on my back. Like elegant claws. Last night I drove home with the windows down. My hair was cutting my eyes in the wind. In the Silverlake hills I left her house. A song by Everclear came on the radio. I was raised in L.A. of that era. Driving around the city with my mom, crazed, trying to make our lives better, listening to music like that. And, last night, before I got into my car, she knelt behind me while I put on my shoes and she caressed my shoulders, back, chest. And before that, we were complimenting each other. And before that, we were hungering into each other like animals fed on this kind of nourishment. I drove into her and she drove onto me. And in between we talked about things like birthdays. And before that, she hand rolled a cigarette while we spoke of death and birth and abortion pills. And it's nice when you can get into the ugly with a person, open hearted, cuz often it turns beautiful.
And when I drove home, I felt, finally I felt, a tinge of the magic that I love about this city.
