Midnight City

Loving how fast a person can drive without scolding or LAPD handcuffs, I turned the wheel softly right and then sped to the green arrow, made a hard right - bracing myself with my left hand clutching the underside of the seat - and then another slow-then speedy right just as '101 South - Los Angeles' became visible; a stalwart occurence with freeway signs in Southern California.

Gracefully fumbling my tethered iPhone, I hit shuffle within the song category - as I often do - landing on a less-desirable M83 song, instantly enlightened to switch to 'Midnight City'. Fleeing the scene, I rolled the windows down to feel the humid 49 degree temps of the San Fernando Valley. Homeward bound, my black hood pulled to cover my chilling ears taking in the brilliant sounds of M83s masterpiece and the booming of the wind through the open windows.

Speeding and moving to the right, grasping the 101, I made the freeway my own. Just as I cleared Universal - Tujunga before that - I glimpsed Hollywood and then the faded-glossy downtown scene. I am making this city my own, and no one is stopping me but myself.

Within that instant - as flurries of sensations lightened my peripheral - I lived in L.A., and I didn't need any thing, action, word or other person to pull me close to her bosom, or tell me to stay. She was my lifestream, my bride - in a sense - and I dreamt nothing, but to hold her tight and make her my life.


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