No more of your fairy stories 'Cause I got my other worries
There comes the time, where you have to give yourself a short break. And from what I know, its always done for the best of reasons. Especially when you can rock out on the town with illegal intentions in mind, clearing swiftly off without even a trace and talk your way out of spending the remainder of the night behind bars. Let us not forget the allure of possibly intoxication and the dainty incentive of attractive women fawning over you.
It was the first time for me to visit a woman at work. The best hotel room, with the best views, tv, room service. Then again, you have to make use of the small refined places; the shower alone was the size of the lower room balcony. Had to be um... tested... yes tested, out for size. She even brought her own souvenirs from the Finland trip. Don’t you love bronzed pieces?
Needless to say, the attempt of keeping attention clearly off of the two forever failed. Next time, to remember to avoid close contact of your accomplice, with other people’s car bonnets. People in LA have alarms.
Toasted by the heat in California, beholding the black umbrella as a parasol from the 20’s. Two dark figures lure themselves down Rodeo Drive. Obviously, as later found bartering is not likened to in the “fashionable” boutiques. And next time we’ll be sure to bring Daddy’s check book. And we do understand that “this is not a yard sale”
Lunch up in the Hills. Picnic and (small) fire to keep us warm(er). Who would know that the Hollywood Sign is flammable. Just kidding folks, would we destroy that? After bad luck in setting grass on fire, headed back down to the city.
Night falls. Whores come out. Firecracker one explodes, sending red sparks shooting toward an Asian hooker, who collapses to the ground, convulsing with fear. Two sets up footsteps are heard trotting from the scene, snickers of sadistic delight spilling from the throats of two mad people. The taller of the two, retreats back to collect the bag of “goodies" for the second mission. Clutching the matches, they spot a dumpster mid street, perfect for gallivanting their next impish task.
The shorter suspect perches above a roman candle, cigarette dangling from her lips as she fixes the line of fire toward a homeless man rattling a can. A grin tugs at the edges of her mouth and she looks up at her accomplice beaming as she plucks the lighter from his hand, flipping it open with a flick of her wrist. One, two, THREE, the candle shoots toward said homeless man, exploding inches from his cardboard box. Ideal moment as suspect number two reaches for the camera, capturing his frozen horror before he wakes from the stun.
The beggar falls to the side, a look of horror frozen in time on his face, he looks toward the place of assault and finds nothing but a lit cigarette butt.
Meanwhile around the corner, nasty cackles are heard inches from the expensive hotel front door as he turns to the shorter accomplice "That'll be a story for the kids" winking before flicking a light across the cigarette. Plotting the next victim.
5am, morning rounds of the police cars. Two insomniacs jiggling around several empty bottles, stumble down the street. Hollywood Blvd. Pull up to the two suspicious figures. Enquiring our present state. Battering her eye lids she simply says “ask the man.” It was early, so honestly, whatever I did to sweet talk my way out of jail time, is beyond me. Still reckoning it was the accent, we wandered off back to the hotel. And found some things that needed attending too.
It was the first time for me to visit a woman at work. The best hotel room, with the best views, tv, room service. Then again, you have to make use of the small refined places; the shower alone was the size of the lower room balcony. Had to be um... tested... yes tested, out for size. She even brought her own souvenirs from the Finland trip. Don’t you love bronzed pieces?
Needless to say, the attempt of keeping attention clearly off of the two forever failed. Next time, to remember to avoid close contact of your accomplice, with other people’s car bonnets. People in LA have alarms.
Toasted by the heat in California, beholding the black umbrella as a parasol from the 20’s. Two dark figures lure themselves down Rodeo Drive. Obviously, as later found bartering is not likened to in the “fashionable” boutiques. And next time we’ll be sure to bring Daddy’s check book. And we do understand that “this is not a yard sale”
Lunch up in the Hills. Picnic and (small) fire to keep us warm(er). Who would know that the Hollywood Sign is flammable. Just kidding folks, would we destroy that? After bad luck in setting grass on fire, headed back down to the city.
Night falls. Whores come out. Firecracker one explodes, sending red sparks shooting toward an Asian hooker, who collapses to the ground, convulsing with fear. Two sets up footsteps are heard trotting from the scene, snickers of sadistic delight spilling from the throats of two mad people. The taller of the two, retreats back to collect the bag of “goodies" for the second mission. Clutching the matches, they spot a dumpster mid street, perfect for gallivanting their next impish task.
The shorter suspect perches above a roman candle, cigarette dangling from her lips as she fixes the line of fire toward a homeless man rattling a can. A grin tugs at the edges of her mouth and she looks up at her accomplice beaming as she plucks the lighter from his hand, flipping it open with a flick of her wrist. One, two, THREE, the candle shoots toward said homeless man, exploding inches from his cardboard box. Ideal moment as suspect number two reaches for the camera, capturing his frozen horror before he wakes from the stun.
The beggar falls to the side, a look of horror frozen in time on his face, he looks toward the place of assault and finds nothing but a lit cigarette butt.
Meanwhile around the corner, nasty cackles are heard inches from the expensive hotel front door as he turns to the shorter accomplice "That'll be a story for the kids" winking before flicking a light across the cigarette. Plotting the next victim.
5am, morning rounds of the police cars. Two insomniacs jiggling around several empty bottles, stumble down the street. Hollywood Blvd. Pull up to the two suspicious figures. Enquiring our present state. Battering her eye lids she simply says “ask the man.” It was early, so honestly, whatever I did to sweet talk my way out of jail time, is beyond me. Still reckoning it was the accent, we wandered off back to the hotel. And found some things that needed attending too.