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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...
