hunting wabbit

up in victorville, cotton tails and jack rabbits abound.

and it sure made Ellroy's day...

out on the road

it's 15 degrees and there appears to be semen stains on the bedspread.

here @ the red roof inn, in victorville, ca.

but that's to be expected.

gotta great deal on the cheap.

ellroy's on the bed beside me.

and i can hear cars zoom by, chugging up the 15north.

headed to vegas, probably.

the room has two beds and big ole fridge that CLICKS rythmically.

a chair is wedged against the door.

a pistol lies loaded and ready.

just ready.

because the crowd here ain't exactly... refined.

matter of fact i've gathered many folks here are dopers and/or booze hounds.

just a feeling.

nevertheless, i'm here; writing -- oddly unperturbed by the ruckus caused by these tweekers.

that's good, yep.

got my template.

an outline.

notes.

and more notes.

-- gleaned from USC and those wunderkinds.

and Sid Field's book.

and Final Draft staged and ready.

but there's something else.

have you ever been to Griffith Park under a clear night sky?

up high, overlooking Los Angeles.

and the City of Angels shimmers with a million points of light?

well...that's what her eye's look like.

big wide-open desert

's where i'd like to bivouac.

up north.

up interstate 15.

past los angeles.

where it starts to open up.

past these hot little towns.

real slow hot little towns skirting the desert.

a waitress named "antoinette," doing the best she can,

in the desert.

serving up biscuits 'n gravy to teamsters.

but i find a spot out there,

in the desert.

start walking and very soon i'm alone.

two hours from santa monica blvd., and you're all alone.

climb a mountain. a little mountain. an outcropping. maybe a hill.

and get high up.

real high -- where the land expands into a wide-open empty vista.

the curvature of the Earth visible.

rolling along, dotted with creosote and sage.

old tires.

and bones.

expended shotgun shells.

heat fluctuating, distorting what's out there.

which ain't much, but a few anemic coyotes.

a jackrabbit or two.

& if you're lucky, a desert tortoise.

-- gopherus agassizii

the wind blows warm up there.

every-thing's a fragment.

a little spec of something.

glinting and rippling in the foreground.

metal and glass and pink feet jutting out windows.

few hours pass -- pack the ruck.

hop on the 15, headed south.

past those hot little towns skirting the desert.

and "antoinette," as she watches the cars ZOOM by.

wishing she could just hitch a ride.

stick that thumb in the warm wind...

but i gotta keep going, "antoinette."

past the holiday inn,

and the Getty

creeping down the four-oh-five.

rounding the culver bend.

traffic balls deep in torrance.

straight shot to the harbor freeway.

straight shot to the sea.

and before too long,

i'm home.