its nights like this that i wish this was a real diary

because youd recognize some of the names. but sometimes names dont matter

sometimes all that matters is that LA is my lady. and its yrs too. sometimes LA just opens up like a freshly arranged bouquet of flowers and dares you to shove your face right in the middle of that colorful spray and say smell it, blogger, smell it all.

she was young and wearing someones soccer tshirt. her friend was sporting a bright green flight of the conchords shirt. both had someones boxers on and me and julio were down in the hot tub trying to see what we could see.

hollywoods got one thing going for it: ghosts.

if youre lucky the spirits will whisper in the ears of the starlets and convince them that history is one jager shot away. even though julio and i are amateur historians AT BEST.

the drunker of the two wanted to play spin the bottle in the bubbling steaming tub and the sober of the four was all eh.

someone was gonna get naked so i was all hey whose boxers are those floating? guess theyre mine.

then another pair appeared. and man did the girls laugh.

then another pair surfaced from the boiling brew and bro and i looked at each other and one of the babes blushed and the other treaded water while her jaw dropped.

clearly nothing in here is true so all eyes were on drunky and reverse inebriatedmosis knows no rules so i was esping like crazy that my girl would do something sexy

which she did. with her shirt. oddly without revealing anything. other than an amazing six pack.

drunkess just sat there as bubbles floated around her. julio was no help, barely knowing english. and me, i had nothing else to take off!

which is the most important thing that you should know about hollywood. most of its fake. most of it doenst have a happy ending. most of it is exactly like your town, which is so normal and wet and cold and fruitless as you march across the courtyard and up the stairs and inthe elevator and up to the penthouse and into the changing room and next to the kitchen and out to the valet and out comes the fiver

the lexus.

which one sir

black convertible.

not even midnight. not even chilly. but not really summer.

but better than anything expected on a monday night in america

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