7-3-97 The Best-Dressed Parking Meter in Town
7-3 2:30 PM TH
The patio at the Cat and Fiddle on Sunset. I pulled up to the parking meter with a sport coat draped over it. The dial had an hour on it. I went into the bathroom at the Hollywood Athletic Club and took a twenty-minute crap while I read the LA Times. When I came back out, I checked the meter. It still showed an hour! Lucky boy! Lucky day! I got the best-dressed, most generous parking meter in town.
On the other hand, I picked up my two rolls of film from the developer. The first was all fucked up and blurry because I had used too long of a shutter speed.
I have to pick up Shirelle's dress from the dry cleaners on the way home. I've been at Pierce. Cleared out the last few things from the room. The new teacher "picked my brain" about how to handle fourth grade. I've been reading LA Weekly about Robert Mitchum and about the difference between suburban and inner-city gifted students. What else? When I get home, I have typing to do. A paragraph at least for Jim. I may reach page thirty today.
Circles of light wind in and out on this page as the sun rays fall through the gently swaying leaves overhead. The red-headed waitress is bringing my check. I had fish and chips with peas. I thought of drinking beer, but there's beer in the fridge at home. I wish I had some dope. What else? There's a planter with a bare-limbed tree hung with buckets of plants. [sketched in black ink on the page] There's also a fountain and a wood pub sign with a red-coated cat playing not a fiddle but a cello. What the hell else? Aaron's got a story to tell about the babysitter. I just can't have it read like a Penthouse Forum letter. Agh. What else? Jimmy Stewart has died. An army of ketchups and steak sauces stands by.
The patio at the Cat and Fiddle on Sunset. I pulled up to the parking meter with a sport coat draped over it. The dial had an hour on it. I went into the bathroom at the Hollywood Athletic Club and took a twenty-minute crap while I read the LA Times. When I came back out, I checked the meter. It still showed an hour! Lucky boy! Lucky day! I got the best-dressed, most generous parking meter in town.
On the other hand, I picked up my two rolls of film from the developer. The first was all fucked up and blurry because I had used too long of a shutter speed.
I have to pick up Shirelle's dress from the dry cleaners on the way home. I've been at Pierce. Cleared out the last few things from the room. The new teacher "picked my brain" about how to handle fourth grade. I've been reading LA Weekly about Robert Mitchum and about the difference between suburban and inner-city gifted students. What else? When I get home, I have typing to do. A paragraph at least for Jim. I may reach page thirty today.
Circles of light wind in and out on this page as the sun rays fall through the gently swaying leaves overhead. The red-headed waitress is bringing my check. I had fish and chips with peas. I thought of drinking beer, but there's beer in the fridge at home. I wish I had some dope. What else? There's a planter with a bare-limbed tree hung with buckets of plants. [sketched in black ink on the page] There's also a fountain and a wood pub sign with a red-coated cat playing not a fiddle but a cello. What the hell else? Aaron's got a story to tell about the babysitter. I just can't have it read like a Penthouse Forum letter. Agh. What else? Jimmy Stewart has died. An army of ketchups and steak sauces stands by.
posted by johnz at 6:25 PM
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