Tu 1-5-99 2:48 PM
I walked up to K-Mart and bought a bike. It cost only eighty-nine dollars. I bought a fifteen-dollar lock, too. Whoop-te-doo. I don't really want to do this, but I don't know what else to do; "Nothing" was getting pretty old, so I guess I may as well fill these stupid-ass three pages with their stupid-ass boring nonsense. I'm no Pepys. Maybe I should read that stuff. While I was riding my new bike down Third, I came to an old book shop. A bunch of books in the window caught my eye: An H.G. Wells Illustrated Common History of the World--20 Volumes--Each to Be Read in a Fortnight--I didn't even ask the price on that. There was a first edition Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail 1972 with a red, white and blue skull with swastika eyes on the jacket cover. There was a book about mystic mushrooms, another about Josephine Baker with one of her topless Paris poses on the cover, a Timothy Leary bio--or was it Norman Lear--? James Joyce's World was another. I went in. It smelled like cigarettes. The old woman proprietress had a persistent cough. I found A History of Mexico by a Parkes, which at $4.95 I couldn't resist. I paid the lady and stuffed it in my backpack and rode to Border's. I looked for Pinocchio, but I couldn't find one. There was a collection of Robert Frost's first three books of poetry for only $5.99, so I bought that, too, and I found an Atkins carbohydrate counter and got that. No I'm on the patio on Marie Callendar's by the Tar Pits. I've got a cup of coffee and the waiter brought cornbread which I love and is, naturally off-the-charts high in carbohydrates. I'm going to go to the salad bar. I read Mohicans while I walked to K-Mart. I have my new bike, but I can't read and ride the way I can read and walk. While I was crossing Wilshire a horn honked. It was Shirelle. Funny. Was it a sign? I had walked up to Wilshire Hill with bated breath. Would there be a black Honda parked near room 45? The gates were open. I felt a little dread in my stomach. Room 45 came into view. There was no black Honda. I saw Lunchstein's Lexus, though, and was reminded of what a jackass I am. Meg Ryan kept seeing "signs" which prompted her to leave her fiance for virtual stranger Tom Hanks on "Sleepless in Seattle" last night on TV. It was sort of a punch in the stomach. But what was that dread nearing Wilshire Hill and why did God put Shrill on Wilshire?
I walked up to K-Mart and bought a bike. It cost only eighty-nine dollars. I bought a fifteen-dollar lock, too. Whoop-te-doo. I don't really want to do this, but I don't know what else to do; "Nothing" was getting pretty old, so I guess I may as well fill these stupid-ass three pages with their stupid-ass boring nonsense. I'm no Pepys. Maybe I should read that stuff. While I was riding my new bike down Third, I came to an old book shop. A bunch of books in the window caught my eye: An H.G. Wells Illustrated Common History of the World--20 Volumes--Each to Be Read in a Fortnight--I didn't even ask the price on that. There was a first edition Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail 1972 with a red, white and blue skull with swastika eyes on the jacket cover. There was a book about mystic mushrooms, another about Josephine Baker with one of her topless Paris poses on the cover, a Timothy Leary bio--or was it Norman Lear--? James Joyce's World was another. I went in. It smelled like cigarettes. The old woman proprietress had a persistent cough. I found A History of Mexico by a Parkes, which at $4.95 I couldn't resist. I paid the lady and stuffed it in my backpack and rode to Border's. I looked for Pinocchio, but I couldn't find one. There was a collection of Robert Frost's first three books of poetry for only $5.99, so I bought that, too, and I found an Atkins carbohydrate counter and got that. No I'm on the patio on Marie Callendar's by the Tar Pits. I've got a cup of coffee and the waiter brought cornbread which I love and is, naturally off-the-charts high in carbohydrates. I'm going to go to the salad bar. I read Mohicans while I walked to K-Mart. I have my new bike, but I can't read and ride the way I can read and walk. While I was crossing Wilshire a horn honked. It was Shirelle. Funny. Was it a sign? I had walked up to Wilshire Hill with bated breath. Would there be a black Honda parked near room 45? The gates were open. I felt a little dread in my stomach. Room 45 came into view. There was no black Honda. I saw Lunchstein's Lexus, though, and was reminded of what a jackass I am. Meg Ryan kept seeing "signs" which prompted her to leave her fiance for virtual stranger Tom Hanks on "Sleepless in Seattle" last night on TV. It was sort of a punch in the stomach. But what was that dread nearing Wilshire Hill and why did God put Shrill on Wilshire?
Labels: Lowlife LA Literature
posted by johnz at 10:00 PM
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