in the shadows of Santa Monica Blvd,
walking the opposite direction
with a wet copy of Infinite Jest
over my face so they don't see me.
at Highland, I take a right,
drop the book in the trash,
hoping a resident of Boys Town
finds it and reads it
unlike I have ever done.
It's almost July
and I still don't know why I am here;
I was hoping to find a job and a girl,
but neither have popped up,
then again I haven't looked very hard.
still high on the weather,
because it gives an air of possibility
even when it isn't there,
or when I am just writing
in a McDonald's on Melrose.