Arrival

I can't exactly recall how that night went down. I believe there were long conversations and Steak Au Poivre. Later on I drank a lot of brandy, packed a few things, but I think that was about it. I must have passed out around three, and woken up around seven.

The morning was cold with sleet and wind. After the long drive to the airport, I shook my father's hand and promised to call soon, which I never did. This was the beginning of my trip back to the west. I looked like shit, shaggy black clothes, overgrown beard, but I managed to get through security without incident. Once I was through the checkpoint I sat down at the familiar barstool at Dick Clark's and had the usual shitty breakfast they serve up. I boarded the plane only to sit on the runway for an extra hour in a drowsy daze. The flight arrived just late enough in Phoenix for me to miss my connection to Burbank. At the costumer service counter, a cute brunette flirts with me while she shifts me and my baggage to the next flight to LAX. While sitting in the Fox Sports Bar enjoying my first beer of the day I call Michele and let her know that's it LAX now, not Burbank, and three hours later. My beer gone, I board the flight.

We were chasing the sun into LA, which finally dropped out as we went over the ocean past Santa Monica. Looking down during the descent I remember thinking 'Are those little clouds or just whitecaps?'. We must have went far out, because the ride over the ocean seemed endless until I could finally see the rocky coastline and then the lights of the city. Exiting the plane I had to push through endless streams of people waiting for flights that weren't coming. I called Michele "All right, I'm here now." "OK, me and Gomez are just circling the airport." "Well you're early, I still have to get my bags, call you when I do." Before getting my bags, I went outside and had my first cigarette of the day, then I was weak and light headed, which is what happens to me now ever since I quit. So, after hauling my 150 lbs. of luggage out the door my heart was racing. Five minutes later Gomez's white VW pulls up and I toss my stuff in. Michele greets me with a warm hug, after which I introduce myself to Gomez. It had been a while since I'd seen her, and she had changed from her blond, hippie type style to wearing all black with black hair. Gomez was about the same, drenched in black with black Wayfarers and a black trappers hat. "So... are you excited?" she says. "Sure, it's just been a long day, and I'm glad it's over. I need a drink." Just getting out of LAX was hell. Gomez says "This traffic is too much. We should just go down to the beach for a drink and wait to go back to Hollywood."

We try to find this place in Redondo Beach that they went to the other day, but we can't even find Redondo Beach. His GPS doesn't work, my I-Touch can't find a signal, and gas station attendants don't speak English. Driving along, we spot some place called the rustic cave or something like that and I say "That looks all right." So we turn around and head inside. We go in to find some little unassuming bar tended by a young Vietnamese man. He enthusiastically tells us the drink specials and then asks us "So... are you guys in a band or something?" We have some beers, I take a few shots of Bourbon, and then leave; thinking that the traffic has become manageable by this point.

Michele asks me if I want to drop my stuff off before we go out and I say I do. So we head over to her place on the edge of Silverlake. She lives in some uneven bungalow behind the house of a Mexican gangbanger named Hector. He's not around when we get there, so I don't meet him yet, we just drop off my stuff, and take off for Hollywood.