standard operating procedure

it's beautiful outside.

here in San Pedro, CA.

on the outskirts of Los Angeles.

and the sun.

surf.

stiff breeze keeping flies @ bay.

today's gonna be a marathon of bad grammar.

script - nearly finished w/the first act. running long.

BUT I GOTTA GET OUT.

out of this house and feel the sun on my face. get that vitamin D stimulated.

so i did.

down Pacific Ave., all the way up to the lights.

and Sunken City.

where i sat for a good long time. right on the precipice; a slab of concrete tagged up by crumb-crushers. some broken glass.

half-dozen palm trees growing outa cracks, splitting slag.

it was real nice.

real post-apocalyptic-type of nice.

i splayed out, arms wide, took a nap.

couple minutes @ most, but it helped.

i left.

sparked a Punch and kicked the Corolla into gear.

back home, paged through some old notes and started up.

S.O.P.

'write the truest sentence you know."

-Earnest Hemingway

-yeah, i qouted Hemingway...

it's all about the beard

'he lay flat on the brown, pine-needled floor of the forest, his chin on his folded arms, and high overhead the wind blew in the tops of the pine trees. the mountainside sloped gently where he lay; but below it was steep and he could see the dark of the oiled road winding through the pass. there was a stream alongside the road and far down the pass he saw a mill beside the stream and the falling water of the dam, white in the summer sunlight...'

for whom the bell tolls

and then this guy named david douglas won the 2009 hemingway look-alike contest.