April in Los Angeles

Los Angeles has the cruelest morning, slipping through the empty pre-dawn streets in the tightest time of year, stripping the coats now cat beds to nestle. I’m away so much of the time. Hermetic spring by now oscillating fans are spring breezes and the refreshing showers of Atlanta are hot afternoon bathing stepping across cat litter scattered on the bathroom floor. And my bed gets hot when I lie there ’til 2 PM. When I’ve been sleeping on the futon for days and not waking up.

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