August 26, 2001
Visits without invitation

I remember as a kid, I wanted to play radio here. I’ve written that thought countless times. This morning, I write from a second floor balcony overlooking a fog covered city beginning to wake up. The pine trees of Carolina have been replaced by palms that resemble tall skinny kids with an afro. People’s fences are six to seven feet high and every gate is locked. I can see the Hollywood sign—my mind catches the wind of the flowers below… I’m waiting, a signal, a sound, your song… maybe mine. Look! A humming bird is flapping its wings a thousand miles an hour. He’s six inches from my writing hand! He’s chirping! Three times! Why do I want to believe its saying, “Collect call from Larry?”