Before the dawn the poolhouse in North Hollywood lurched from side to side and ground grinded like a herd of mammoth teeths and my skin shivered with each tectonic shift. Scotty shouted, "Earthquake.
Last evening I had once more punished my body and soul with drink and drugs. The Milk Bar never recovered from the Beverly Hills FD RAID. My purpose here has lessened each night. No one comes anymore. Bemused by the funhouseque shaking, I groggily ask, "Does this get any worse?"
"No,it's over," Scottie answered the poolhouse's from far corner, sounding relieved having experienced the last 6+ 0n the Richter scale earthquake. "Good." It was only my second earthquake. The previous one had been in Encinitas the Summer of 1974. Stronger than this one I had first thought the riotous rumbling was a train passing on the nearby train tracks. My friend AK knew what it was as had everyone in the bungalow nect to the Botanical Gardens. Rumble, shake, the scent of jasmine on the night air mixed with the stink of eucalyptus. Like a Joni Mitchell cover song. I returned to my semi-coma thinking it had been a dream. Imwas wrong. Later in the day everyone spoke about, then again people in LA had little to day anything other than traffic and the glorification of their existence.
Nothing else could be expected from the promised land of Southern California.
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