C'mere

Ray and I met at this exact same spot. I can still clearly remember that day; so many times of revisiting it in my mind haven't caused it to fade until nothing but a blurry image is left. it's still crisp, and the feeling is still the same. I still feel the blistering cold of that day. I can still see the smoke of my cigarette block out my vision of the horizon ahead, only to have it clear and see the first time Ray walked down that worn dirt path from the bike lane into this, the underpass of the freeway.

The same tagging from that day is still here, but now crossed out by new crews and old gangs claiming or reclaiming territory. This is probably a bad place to be, seeing as how so many lives have been claimed here because of that tagging. But living in Los Angeles has those perks. We do not fear death, to us it's just a daily part of living.

It's as right as it has to be...

"Seriously, what the hell does that mean?!" I shout to the L.A. sky. People can hear me, most can see me if they look outside their window, but it makes no difference. Again, that is a part of life we have become accustomed to: crazy people shouting out random obscenities.

Maybe one of them can answer me. Maybe there is a lost wise man living in one of these crappy, overpriced apartments. One who has been seeking an empty mind to fill. I'm empty, fill me.

I sigh. It's been a long day, I should head home. But he lives there, so what exact comfort can be found in that? I want to head home like I always do; like i always did. To get home, sit down next to him on the couch, and have him wrap his hands around me, his head resting on my chest.

I guess those days are gone now. I don't know what will happen. I imagine he'll be moving out. It's only obvious, I guess.

I get up, dusting the dirt off my shorts and wish for once that the hobo that stabs people wouldn't have moved bridges.