Rhea drove twelve and a half blocks west on Fourth. Once she passed the bulk of the homeless camps that bloated the sidewalks, she pulled into a 24 hr. gas station mini-mart and parked. A billboard loomed above her, advertising a new TV series, Its text presciently tempting her, “You are 141 miles from the border.” She got a bag of Fritos and a Pepsi from the Mart. Back in her car, she looked at the picture she’d taken of the Mexican desk in Hays’s warehouse. She Googled “rustic Mexican desk Ensenada”. Her phone died. She rebooted it. Her notepad came up on the home screen, with the words she’d jotted down a mere hour ago: “beefy, ancho, warm night”. Shit. She had to write a review. She started her car and left. She drove up Virgil to Sunset. Closer to the boulevard, she cruised past a few lingering hookers, hustlers, night-time wanderers. It was almost three, when namesake angels hover closer to the ground with wings that are singed and black.
When things in Rhea’s life were darker than usual – when she didn’t have the time, inclination or extra money to escape the circumstances of her life or the details of her job – she either watched QVC or she wrote. Musings – like she’d told Manny. Lousy romanticized rhymes scribbled in a journal she’d sporadically kept over the years. That hobby served her now. She turned her phone to “record” and started to talk:
“…Street’s tired with hustlers looking for cash, fools looking for love.”
As she turned onto Sunset, she passed late-night clubs just closed, a road crew, a damaged hipster or two huddled around food trucks, posting on their phones. Skinny hipsters were on their phones, ignoring each other. A Mexican vendor sold churros – while his wife cradled their sleeping child.
“Everyone else is looking for fame or minimum wage…” she talked on.
A coyote crossed the street in front of her, carrying a bag of Cheetos in its mouth.
“City of Angels, my ass.”
She drove west, into Silver lake. It was coming on to three in the morning. The convertible top of her car was down. She passed strip mall restaurants that were closed for the night: –Jitlada, Alegria, Al Wazir…
“Me, I was looking for something to eat on this early Tuesday night…”
She passed Yummie’s donuts. They started baking just about now. That fried dough smell, that divine perfume wafted out. Irresistible. It drew her in. Well, that and the sinewy young hunk who was sweeping up outside, preparing to open.
She pulled into the strip mall and parked outside the Baskin Robbins next door. A few people had gathered outside Yummie’s door, waiting for it to open. Rhea got out of her car and headed towards them and toward young Mr. Sinewy.
“Something beefy, smoky, with the umami just right…”
A twenty-something cool girl in a tie-dyed dress started talking to him. Flirting. He flirted back. Rhea stopped. Young desire had a kind of perfection she knew she couldn’t touch.
She got back in her car and drove into Hollywood. Home. Alone with her words.