Saturday, November 19, 2011
City of Angels
They say L.A is a city of dreams. Whose dreams anyway? Once you fall a sleep the Sandman steals everything from you, but your pillowcase stained with disappointment. Wake up baby- I think you need to go home now- last call. She stumbles off of the worn bar stool, bows to no one in particular and steps into the lonely streets of "no one gives a shit." Just one more Hollywood causality swallowed up by a city that cares more about a postal code than a Jane Doe living under a down town bridge. She takes a long drag from her cheap ass cigarette, and tosses it into the gutter. After a moment of digging through her torn up Channel wannabe purse, she pulls out her two dollar sun glasses- putting them on, she stumbles into the night like all the other dreamers who never woke up. "Come on baby take another Ambian....Hold on just one more night. Come on baby, the Sandman ain't coming back no more-there ain't nothing left to steal," she mumbles nonsensically to herself, leaving the pungent stench of cheap booze, cheaper cigarettes and, loneliness in her wake.