6:52am. Sleepless night. Christmas special on tv. The month of May. Smoke a cigarette. Leftover coffee. Check email. Money in the bank. Shower. Pack up my laundry, leave Thai Town and head west to Little Armenia to the coin laundry. Smokes at the shop around the corner.

Stout men with bellies in gray t-shirts. Fur-lined hoods. Grandmothers in thin clothes. Browns. Sweaters. Ms. Pac Man. I get the high score.

Gray skies, gray people, gray everything. People walking the streets. Back and forth. Bus stops. Filth. Nobody smiles. Ever.

“Will this be for one night?”
“Yes, just tonight.”
“A large part of our clientele is stay.”
“They live here?”
“No, it’s all men. Gay.”
“Oh. Can I still have a room?”
“Yes. For just tonight, right?”

Sade playing in the courtyard. Lite rock. Manga stickers on the oak furniture in the room.

A homeless man sits beside me at Starbucks. An acquaintance bums a cigarette. Tells him to look out for John with the handlebar moustache. John is jacking everyone, stole his cellphone, he warns.

The man is trying to make money. “Can we count on you to help out the veterans? Is your manager there? Dumb ass bitch.”

Hollywood.