i was leaning against a brick wall outside in some small, shy rays of the sun writing in a little black notebook.  the sun and i hadn't seen one another in awhile so we were both cordial and semi-kind, whatever we had the energy to be. occasionally i'd light a cigarette and then forget it was between my fingers. i sat on the cement because it felt and smelled just like the city, i didn't think much of it, i couldn't think much of anything, but within five minutes, three separate people walked by and asked if i was 'okay' or if i had 'someplace to stay,' so i guess it was a peculiar thing to do, in a place like this. an older guy in scuffed up construction boots watched me from his chevy for a few minutes before approaching me. "you lost, little girl?" his face was stoic and straight. i wanted to say yes, i was, actually but i knew he'd never get it the way i meant it so i just laughed and mumbled something random that implied no, technically i was not lost.
i put my sunglasses on even though the sun was getting tired and i wrote a little contract for myself in dark ink. it articulated my official refusal to ever write anything at all that might be considered necessary or important. from now on its just whatever the god damn doctor ordered. i promised to quit documenting dates and all those times of night. if you know me, and probably you don't - i can't even count anyone that might on one hand - then you don't need to hear what time it is. you know what time it is. you already know. the sun went down without even  inviting me. i don't recognize any of the random wanderers in this hotel parking lot, even the the "oh you agains." 
'oh - its you again', they say but i can't remember them at all. i can't keep track of these odd, gritty construction workers that start intimate out-of place conversations with me in the parking lot. their faces are one single face, like a stranger in a dream. almost everyone else around here just tend to look at me sorta funny, they eyeball me like i have stolen something of theirs they've been missing forever. 
if you're really wondering where i am exactly just picture all the buildings in clumps of four or five beside a giant frantic four-lane highway, all of them the exact same size and the exact same color. like a more dulled version of the color of sand. i close my eyes often. i imagine the buildings lined up side-by-side ranging from short and fat to tall and skinny, each one a different color, sometimes way more than just one. i imagine people learning. lots of people learning fast, different things all in the same place and at the same time. 

i keep thinking about the pavilions movie theaters seats. that pavilion theater was like a home, i watched god create it. on the seventh day he rested. the seats were directly out of a little kids daydream, purple velvet and tall, the bottom with a little bounce and a big softness to the reaching-hugging arms. the walls were all curtained with a matching purple velvet. not the fake curtain-kind like the corporate movie theaters, inside shopping malls but the real kind from old film houses. that perfect park was right across the street, like the theaters own huge backyard, the cafe inside had big long windows that showed it off. 
everything changes. 
i had my first real and slightly scandalous 'make out session' in theater #3 of the pavilion, during a kids movie. we had 40oz's in our purses. i remember my surprise at the distinct cigarette taste of his mouth from the newport menthols he favored. i had never kissed a smoker. when he left my friends were grinning with me, really big, like they just kissed their crushes too. that's how much they loved me. like that.
the theater lobby walls were decorated with movie posters from the 20s to the 50s. i didn't think much of it then but tonight i can see them perfectly in my head. before this month i actually thought i knew what it meant to call a place a 'ghost town'. now i taste the cigarettes on my own lips. i haven't been to the movies in a really long time, not since i started smoking, is it strange to want to escape the big dark room to have one? 
everything changes.
let there not be light. 
i went outside anyway, strange or not, the movie was putting my nerves on edge and my bones were all screaming, so fine. all 100,000 billion of my bones and muscles, whatevers here inside me, screaming. once outside i realized there was no way back in, the mall was closed, the theater employees home or out or maybe they never even existed. i lied flat down on the hood of our car like it was my movie that i went to see. since when did things get so unreal, since when is 3D real life? grant me the serenity. i like the hoods of cars and velvet purple thrones in theaters. there's not much else, i don't think, there's not much else of worth.  if you're really wondering where i am exactly just close your eyes and get here.

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