We've got sun, earth, and atmosphere, and when you've got that, you've got weather!

Jane's is belting out "Summertime Rolls" and all I can think about is that, as mad as I was all day at my girlfriend, I love her to death. "Her nose is a pepper sunrise," and the anger melts away. Yeah, sure, maybe it's the beers and the two shots of Herradura. Maybe it's the scorching hot night time air as the car drives me through midnight in Hollywood. I don't care. I just want to get home and say, "Hi. I was mad. Now I'm not. I love you. Goodnight."

They're out there, you know, the hookers, the lost, the desperate, the new, and the crazies. Walking around and screaming at the world or maybe that one person in it that fucked them over so hard that Hollywood or Sunset at midnight ended up making sense. You ignore them at your own peril even if you don't live here because they're where you are too. Look in the corners, with the dust and dirt and grime that you subconsciously sweep away as you clean. They're under the rug, so to speak. We're all guilty us normal douche bags, we make them every day as we run around not dealing with reality. We plug into the Matrix. They watch, they wait, and as soon as we're not plugged in they remind us of the "collateral damage" of our lifestyle choices. They're people too but no one likes to admit that and that's what makes us less human. Trade places? Fuck you. I want out. I want Jane to stop this crazy thing so I can get off.

Midnight run from East Los through Hollywould-or-would-they-not to The Hood. You see it all and yeah, you're a little buzzed but maintaining. They're everywhere, Chief. Highway Patrol cuts you off just to make an exit, bueno! Crazies, lost souls, kids out eating it all up and maybe tagging, johns looking desperate, immigrants hating it all and just trying to make it back to the room, drunks looking at you from the comfort of their car with a grin of recognition, randoms out jogging in deepest darkest LA just so they can say they did, and it's all yours/mine this city! Birthright? Earned? Fuck. Who cares? We're all here. Now. Make it work or get burnt up in the canyons or drowned down at the pier or eaten by a shark, the locals, we won't mind. Our home is your home just stay in your racially assigned area, please. The LAPD is overworked as is, what with the racial profiling and the endless machinations of manipulating downtown's purse strings and your fears. So alive this city! This shithole! This home...

As happens too often, I read a book and it blew the back of my head open. As I work on mending said hole I suggest you read Empire of Illusions and check back with me.

Peace out, bitches!