Worst nightmare. My motorcycle broke down and now suddenly, in the wink of a cockroach’s cunt, I’m a helpless pedestrian walking the streets of Los Angeles. Oh god! Riding the bus in Hollywood. Got on the rolling garbage can of lost souls at Santa Monica and Vine – the belly of the beast. Sitting on this grim contraption is like being in a giant elevator descending ever so slowly into hell. Every seat near the front is occupied by grossly obese MacDonald’s-chomping black ladies, demented cripples, white-trash speed-addled toothless zombies and shit-pants madmen talking to themselves. In the rear sit the predators; gangs of pissed-off looking teenaged homeboys with permanent scowls plastered across their ugly deformed mugs; fright masks of failure and habitual gloom. We’re all one big lost school of bad smelly fish now in a rolling cloudy polluted aquarium prowling the ruined streets of the ass-end of the American Dream. It ain’t all glamor in Hollywood.
Goddamn. I told ya. Who needs a Circus!?! Well-written.
Ha ha ha!
Great story, JS! I’m sorry you got stranded in the belly of the beast but it sure made for a funny tale and I kept hearing The Doors “When You’re Strange” in my head…
In the words of HST, ”it never got weird enough for me.”