5-3-98 9:05 PM Su
I read the Song of Solomon today.  The intensity of Rose of Sharon's love is beautiful and haunting--kisses like wine.  A band is playing here at Molly Malone's.  "I think we have time for one more song," says the singer.  It's slim pickins on a Sunday night.  I walked here.  Must be about two miles.  The singer sounds like Joe Walsh.  I typed a whole fifteen minutes today.  Guy lights up next to me.  Heartache.  He's smoking a pipe.  This seems to be about as interesting as it's going to get.  "We'll be at the Crooked Bar midnight Tuesday," says Joe Walsh's voice.  "I don't know where it is," he says.
 "It's on Sunset," someone in the bar yells out.  "In the Coconut Teazer." 
"In the Coconut District?" the singer asks and everybody laughs and no one corrects him.
Nobody.  Get used to being in love with nobody.  A roach crawled across the way.  I used my pen to bat him back from whence he came.  Fuck am I bored and lonely.  I'll roll a smoke after this.  I guess I'll take a break from working on Jim and work on editing Coydogs every night for a while. 

[black ink drawing of a hand pointing to the left with the word REST ROOMS written along its wrist and forearm]
"I'm in LA, and I'm wearing underwear," I overhear.  Another band is tuning up.  Nothing is going to happen tonight.  Probably not tomorrow either.  Nor the next day.  Nor the next.  EIRANN GO BRAGH  NO SMOKING ALLOWED  The bartender has a ponytail and an apron.  I guess I'll walk back once I've finished these three pages.  What else?  What the fuck else?  The singer in the new band is a hot little bitch.  I see my curse.  I know why it is.  When you spurn love and life repeatedly, love and life decide not to waste their time on you.  What else?  Where are the single girls?  What the fuck else?  Guinness and Heineken and a bottle of Bud.  Lord won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz.