Parking Parking Parking. Oh, and parking tickets—hooray! Love my city. Love those tickets. Love watching that money leave my account. Love you, LA. Keep on takin’ from me. C’mon, keep it up. I know you love me in that sadistic sort of way. You love to bash me and watch me writhe on the floors of your city in agony. Well, you know what? I like to get up and ask for more. You, the sadist. Me, the masochist. God, we’re such the perfect lovers. Meant to be. Kismet. Star-crossed on the fateful night I asked you for everything and you said, “yes…but it will cost.” I didn’t hear the last clause. I only heard “YES!!” Resounding through my eardrums and my consciousness and my soul. Singing the song of acceptance of which I was so long in search. I was your immediate concubine. Love me, I said. And your took me to your bed and had your way with me and I came right back for more at sunrise.
For days, for weeks, for months, for years I met your sunrise and your every beg and call each day. And now I’m back to beg & call upon you.