Burnt orange floods the sky at this time of morning. In the distance a scraggly lone coyote cries fowl. A box sportster races pell mell down Laurel Canyon. A night of depravity or debauchery? Or, a damsel tired of dodging a bloated ogre's hairy paws.
What will today bring? I often times find myself asking if this will be the day I meet my maker;deep down I know it will be more of weaving in and out of traffic on Hollywood Boulevard. Squinting at the sun filtered through the gauze of a brown and hazy afternoon. Lots of anger. Lots of heartache... all coasting into a night of Bacchanalia.
With this in mind, I look out over the house-pitted hills and watch the morning unfold and feel grateful I am alive.
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