Frenetic, frantic, all that. Flew across the country, drove across the city, pulled into the valet of the hotel in Hollywood, and there was Ron Jeremy. Like fate, perverted.
Sitting on the 10th floor in between time zones, the city spills out in the dark with a million scattered lights, and I wish I'd never left. I fall in love all over again walking the boulevard, from the crazy old lady in pancake makeup and towering green turban to the falling apart art deco theater fronts with dirty red carpets.
I wish I'd never left, but I can't go home.
I started putting the story together, bit by bit, getting everything together, so the week is booking up.
Starting tomorrow, I'll hit the ground running, tape recorder in hand, camera slung over shoulder, running and writing at the same time.
Oh, it's a flurry. I just got here, and I never want to leave already.
