4-16-98 Th 4:00 PM
Ug. On the sidewalk in front of Louise's Trattoria on Larchmont. Ate some pasta. Now I'm having a latte. Something gay about that word makes you want to go all limp-wristed and hold your pinky erect. Going to get my prescription next. Then I guess I'll head home and do that third-person page and listen to the end of the Dodger game. I feel like I can't afford this meal, so I'm not enjoying it. "...kind of small-towny..." I heard a guy say as he walked by. Trying to be like a Paris expatriate out here on the sidewalk at the cafe, pigeons flying around. Where are the pretty girls today? Shall I do the crossword here? The price is going up on the parking. I got a new student today, a Yugoslavian refugee, first white kid I've ever had in one of my full-time classes. Ugh. What else? A lady draped her LA Weekly over her bicycle frame while she went in for ice cream next door. The pages started to blow away, so I weighted it down under one of the chairs at the table. When she came out she thanked me and said I was sweet. "Yeah, sure," I said. What the f__k else? Wish I could pay for a few glasses of wine without feeling any guilt. F--k. Herzog is going to visit Ramona. She sounds pretty hot. You see--he has it good, but tortures himself. Like me. I could go for a f--k soon. I went to Shirelle's last night, but she was playing games with me. Just to f--k with me or rather not to. Then when I was leaving this morning she says, "Leaving so early?" I was gonna give you some sex." I had already told myself f--k it, though, and I left. The village has no potential today. The poetic souls are at the non-corporate cafe down the street anyway. I write sh-t. I think sh-t. Therefore I am sh-t. Could go for a smoke. Supposed to meet Modchill maybe for a drink. That looked like Linda Ashour driving away. I should walk to work tonight, but I proably won't. Wish I could paint. What the f--k else? Catherine? Like to go to the batting cages soon. Like to golf. Like to have a nice fistfight. Had to take some pseudoepinephrine to quell the gush of snot from my nose. Awnings. I like awnings. 6:10 PM I was telling the children that historians would some day trace the fall of American civilization to the abolition of corporal punishment in public schools. I saw my TA regard me with an impassive eye. I said, "Or maybe I'm being too cycnical." "No!" she said. Oh, f--k it. I'm whupped. Beat. Out of it.
Ug. On the sidewalk in front of Louise's Trattoria on Larchmont. Ate some pasta. Now I'm having a latte. Something gay about that word makes you want to go all limp-wristed and hold your pinky erect. Going to get my prescription next. Then I guess I'll head home and do that third-person page and listen to the end of the Dodger game. I feel like I can't afford this meal, so I'm not enjoying it. "...kind of small-towny..." I heard a guy say as he walked by. Trying to be like a Paris expatriate out here on the sidewalk at the cafe, pigeons flying around. Where are the pretty girls today? Shall I do the crossword here? The price is going up on the parking. I got a new student today, a Yugoslavian refugee, first white kid I've ever had in one of my full-time classes. Ugh. What else? A lady draped her LA Weekly over her bicycle frame while she went in for ice cream next door. The pages started to blow away, so I weighted it down under one of the chairs at the table. When she came out she thanked me and said I was sweet. "Yeah, sure," I said. What the f__k else? Wish I could pay for a few glasses of wine without feeling any guilt. F--k. Herzog is going to visit Ramona. She sounds pretty hot. You see--he has it good, but tortures himself. Like me. I could go for a f--k soon. I went to Shirelle's last night, but she was playing games with me. Just to f--k with me or rather not to. Then when I was leaving this morning she says, "Leaving so early?" I was gonna give you some sex." I had already told myself f--k it, though, and I left. The village has no potential today. The poetic souls are at the non-corporate cafe down the street anyway. I write sh-t. I think sh-t. Therefore I am sh-t. Could go for a smoke. Supposed to meet Modchill maybe for a drink. That looked like Linda Ashour driving away. I should walk to work tonight, but I proably won't. Wish I could paint. What the f--k else? Catherine? Like to go to the batting cages soon. Like to golf. Like to have a nice fistfight. Had to take some pseudoepinephrine to quell the gush of snot from my nose. Awnings. I like awnings. 6:10 PM I was telling the children that historians would some day trace the fall of American civilization to the abolition of corporal punishment in public schools. I saw my TA regard me with an impassive eye. I said, "Or maybe I'm being too cycnical." "No!" she said. Oh, f--k it. I'm whupped. Beat. Out of it.
Labels: Lowlife LA Literature
posted by johnz at 2:49 PM
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