flower in ghetto, a still-lifeThe thing about President’s Day for The Unfortunate working masses like me, is that there’s no traffic in the morning.

That’s about it.

Rolled in to Hollywood before even the tranny’s were up and about, which is pretty early. They were still putting their wigs on, shaving their legs, and doing the ol’ tuck-n-tape. I’m sure their late start suits them fine as it’s been too cold in the mornings, lately, for the boys to strut around in their sparkly gold mini-skirts like they usually do. I mean, sometimes you have to wait until 12:30 before it’s 72 degrees around here… it’s getting to be ri-goddamned-diculous. And your high today in New York City: 37-degrees F. Jebus, I love this town.

Anyway, I wonder if, 150 years from now, people will honor Dubya the same way we do Lincoln today? Will there be a Bush Memorial? I envision something like a huge pile of innocent Middle Eastern bodies with a heroic Bush perched on top, resplendent in marble, holding over his head a 1:1 scale WMD made from paper mache. Something tasteful.

Miniature golf girl came over last night, which was no small feat considering she lives in The Valley, and I live at The Beach. Even more of a minor miracle as I don’t even have the pretense of entertainment options at the moment. No TV. No X-box. No couch. No heat even, at the moment. Such is the draw, apparently, of someone completely devoid of any of the usual seduction devices… I’m forced to do it all without aid or assistance.

Not that it was all that successful by frat-boy standards. We talked a lot, huddled together on the bed (ostensibly) for warmth, and called it a night at one.

But it’s good to have those kind of nights. You don’t get conversations with the 21-year olds.

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