48 hours in LA

I threw myself into the city with extra force knowing it would be our last time out like this for awhile. the industrial boiler room sucked us in and spun us around until we couldn't tell which way was up. I called TF knowing I had already moved on in my heart, making plans. we parked the car on a gritty street corner and slipped downstairs dressed like dandies and spice girls with hippie curls and fedoras.

the next day i visited rehab. the newbies crowed with tales of needles and liquor store bathrooms, shooting up on pch. we lost ourselves in chakra balancing.

our last night we took shots of tequila and downed bellinis in our hotel lobby bar. for years of los angeles and hopefully many more to come. friends trickled down from the roof to say goodbye to Claudia. A said los angeles was already crumbling without her. we drove down to alameda and ducked into his loft. I slipped out of my patent leather heels and buried my toes in the fuzzy white rug. at 3 we took off for another club, stopping for gas along the way. Like we would do it again next week except we wouldn’t.

the parking attendant hobbled across the asphalt with the help of a cane to give me sixteen dollars change and we ducked into an alley, climbed under a torn canvas curtain to find a dingy loft space with a full bar and a makeshift seating area decorated by lawn chairs. drinks were free. Marie thought she was gonna puke but ended up making out on a couch for two hours. Claudia snapped photos in the soft light and danced in a halo of glittery beats. I would miss her the most, but i was already used to that. she would miss this. her LA. when we finally left the alley it was light. holy shit Marie said. I sobered up quickly in the grey downtown dawn and we took the freeways back to hollywood and then the boulevard back to santa monica, passing smashed foilage and dirty wind until we hit the beach.