Hustler

Last night, we went to the Hustler store because I had to get something for a story I'm doing. It was the only place I could find it. I called around to some other stores, but no one else had it. Finally, I found it here.

It made me remember when I used to live in LA. And I had a closet full of stripper shoes, and a cupboard full of porn, and a T-shirt that read: "FUCK ME I'M FAMOUS."

It seems like a long time ago and yesterday.

I can't say I miss it. But I do.

For a while, I was embarrassed by it, but now I'm not really.

Working on this story, I tweeted something like that it made me feel how the dog gets, because it was trained a long time ago to be a drug-sniffing dog, when it gets around hubcaps. It gets all intent. And intense.

Either way, it doesn't make a difference, really. If you believe in alternate universes, on some other planet in some other dimension some other me is running around with a pink rhinestone necklace that reads "BITCH," and it's nighttime or that weird time when the whole sky is sort of periwinkle blue, and I'm driving through the Cahuenga Pass into or out of the Valley.