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Down these mean streets

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Jan. 24th, 2013 | 10:25 am
location: Little Tokyo, Los Angeles
mood: noir

January twenty-fourth. It was raining in Los Angeles. I sat in my hotel room and considered my options.

One night down, four to go. I'm not used to waiting. I was supposed to meet somebody here in LA, but they didn't show. That caught me by surprise; I had no Plan B. Unless you count the knowledge that it wouldn't be healthy to show my face in Frisco too soon.

Who was this somebody, and what was it that I was expecting, that had brought me here all the way from North Carolina? Sorry, but I'm not ready to tell you that. You don't want to see a grown man cry, do you?

Or maybe you do, you pervert. Well, I'm not going to give you that satisfaction.

The Little Tokyo Hotel is a good place to lie low. I'm pretty sure no one would think to look for me here. The landlady doesn't speak much English. Perfect.

I was thinking of going to Disneyland. Not many would think of looking for me there, either. But even apart from the rain, I don't think it would feel right.

It would probably even smell wrong. Like curdled orange juice under a cowboy hat.

To be continued ... if they don't get me, first.

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