Joshua A. Triliegi 213 975 0067 Joshua@BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
The Editor and Publisher of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE
Announces a New Experimental Serial Novel about Los Angeles.
Mr Triliegi will write a chapter a day for the next few weeks and
post the results in various languages at the three blog spots that
regularly showcase Art, Theater, Music and Community events.
" I thought it would be a good writing exercise to simply write
about what I see and hear everyday on the streets of the city.
To simply create a chapter a day based on the people and things
going on in Los Angeles. Since we all come from so many back-
grounds, styles, cultures and languages, I decided to structure
the multi character novel to represent all of Los Angeles. I simply
write a chapter a day by allowing the characters to unfold & the
story to reveal itself based directly on the things I see and hear."
" Its pure fiction based on generalities. For instance, Chapter Three,
which was inspired by a girl I saw on the bus earlier in the day, she
had a sketch book with some nice artworks and I thought about her."
Or Chapter One, based on a conversation I had with a guy who was
entering back into society from a long stretch in the penitentiary.
I thought about what other people in his life may have been thinking."
" Its a challenge to simply introduce a character and follow the
creative
line as it flows into something structured and complete. I usually know
the beginning and the end of each Chapter, and simply let the middle
fill itself out. I like the daily discipline as well as the audience
being
in on the process. In this particular case, I don't really take notes.
I just start with an idea and let it flow. This is not a normal novel by
any means, but it is a new and interesting challenge for both the
writer and the readers. Were publishing it in three cities and a wide
variety of languages, English, Italian, French, Chinese, Armenian,
Chinese, Hebrew, Japanese & Korean so far. Its been a lot of fun
I hope the people of Los Angeles and the world will follow it out as
it reveals itself. As the writer, in this particular case, I am just as
curious as the reader as to what will happen and how things will go.
The cool thing about this project is how quickly the characters began
to take on a life of their own. "
" Its an interesting way to work. I am putting together several other
writing projects and decided that this would be a good warmer upper.
We get anywhere from a 50 to 400+ views a day on our website for
our Articles, Reviews and especially our Audio Interviews, so this
particular literature project should be good exercise and at the same
time, allow people to see how a novel is actually created day by day."
They Call It The City of Angels
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Chapter One: Louis
Los Angeles is a funny place to live, but those laughing were
usually from out of town. Louis was a busboy down at Old Ma
Fritters Cafe & Saloon, the longest running truck stop in the
Harbor. He had been a busboy for almost twenty six years,
before that, he washed dishes, before that, he attended the
parking lot. Directing the truck drivers where to park, making
sure the working mom's could get in and out without missing
a beat, knowing the difference between regulars who ate at the
counter and the new comers who were most likely in town to
visit the Queen Mary or take a cruise Catalina Island for the day.
All in all, Louis was a quiet, hard working man with a simple view
on life. He was happy to have a job, never missed a day of work,
except the day his son was sentenced to seventeen years in the
penitentiary for manslaughter. That was over fifteen years ago
and today was the day that Louis Junior would come home,
this made him nervous.
Since that time, his wife had a stroke, his daughter had married
a local cop and he had three beautiful grandkids. So much had
changed since louis junior had gone away. In 1976, it was a old
world, now it was nineteen-ninety-one. The Dodgers entire team
had been replaced, there were new presidents, everything was
different. But still, he showed up to work on time and already
the word had gotten out that Louis Junior was back in town and
heading this way. He had reservations. He knew that Junior was
a good kid, got caught up with the wrong friends early on, had
been picked on and turned tough gut mostly for his own survival.
The accident had been complicated, it had involved a rival member
of another group of kids as well as one of Junior's ex- girlfriends
and to top it off the first cop on the scene was Louis' s new son-in
-law, Chuck, who happened to be white. They all lived in a big
victorian style house just above the port, which had a guest house
where Louis senior lived and in the big house, his daughter, Celia,
Chuck and the three girls, Cindy, Donna and Francine. It was a
good life, most of the time. Louis wondered exactly what he would
say, where junior would sleep and how all of this would play out.
He figured junior could stay on the couch in the guest house and
later he could break the news that after all was said and done:
Chuck had met Celia after that day in court and one thing led to
another, as things like this often do & well, here we are, a family.
He couldn't know exactly what Junior would think, say or do, but
he knew it wouldn't be a smooth transition. Junior had been saved
in the joint and had found god. He belonged to an outreach program
that was ready to offer him a chance to work and go back to school,
but housing was not provided. So, Louis said, " Yes son, of course
you can stay with us while you get back on your feet. " And so the
day started, as these days often do down in the port. Up at 5 AM,
to work by five thirty, he'd have an early lunch and since everyone
knew junior was coming home, had the choice to go home early,
but had already decide to stay the duration. Work was his way of
dealing with the troubles of life. It steadied his resolve, gave him
roots, kept him calm, kept him centered, even if deep down inside,
he knew that this was not an ordinary day and that things could
go bad.
No one was more aware of the impending problems than Chuck,
who worked at the front desk office directly across from the loading
docks at the longshore pick up and delivery. He hadn't seen Junior
since that day in court and before that the terrible rainy night on the
street with bodies mangled, wind swept asphalt, palm trees bending
to the ground and a fierce full moon reflecting anguish, pain and death,
in his eyes. He couldn't sleep all that morning. For a cop, he was, not
a total square, his own brother had been a pot dealer back in the nine-
teen sixties and since then, he himself had imbibed more than a few
glasses of whiskey a night. He was hip to jazz music, loved the various
cultures in Los Angeles and more than anything, adored his wife and
three girls. His family was his everything. He was thinking about junior
as he pulled into the cafe to get breakfast to go, and three cups of joe
for the boys at the office, who secretly hated the coffee served in the
back room. Ma Fritters Coffee was made with a pinch of cinnamon and
was generally strong compared to the instant regulation joe that the
knuckle heads made. Know one said anything as Chuck pulled into the
cafe, but everyone knew what was on their minds as Louis and Chuck
exchanged words in the parking lot. The waitresses and line cooks
stopped what they were doing and saying for just a second or two
and sure enough a hush drifted through the place. Those who didn't
know the score figured it out pretty quick. The cop and the busboy,
who was actually a fully grown man with grandkids, chatted quietly
about the day. Neither had figured out what was the best way to deal
with it, nor did they fully understand how junior would take it: both
understood it wouldn't be easy. Life in the L.A. Harbor never was.
They Call It The City of Angels
Chapter Two: Mickey
"Look left, then right, then left again." What the hell is so difficult
about that ? Mickey muttered out loud to some mindless quack as
he skidded around the car and cranked his wrist an eighth of an inch,
which meant he was now riding from a basic twenty-five miles per
hour to the preferred forty-five along the coast of Malibu and on
into Venice beach where he kept a shop that tended strictly to Harley-
Davidson's. Mickey was a third generation biker, his Dad had known
some pretty serious guys back in the day. His grandfather had driven
a Harley from Washington State clear down to Southern California
back in the nineteen forties before going off to war, with the rest of
his generation. Back when Mickey was a kid, bikers were hated and
or feared by the general populist. Now, everybody and their grandma
wants to claim some piece of this heritage. His old man fixed bikes for
some of the well known biker gangs throughout California, but he never
actually signed up, if you know what I mean. What they call a civilian.
When his old man left town for a month, which turned into a decade,
Mickey finally took a crow bar to the lock on the old man's wood shed,
found his tools and started a business of his own. It wasn't one of
those
places with a big neon sign or anything like that, he just fixed bikes
for
guys in the neighborhood and eventually had a couple dozen regulars
and that was it. He had been offered partnerships before by local shops,
investors, squares with enough money to set him up well, but simply
didn't want the hassle. " As soon as you take their money, they own
you." That was his usual reply, but lately he'd gotten tired of the
bullshit.
Guys not paying what they owed, insurance companies not releasing
the funds on time, just cause they knew he was an unofficial Harley
repairman, as opposed to the guys with the big signs out front. Part
of him rejected the whole idea of middle America embracing the Harley
phenomenon. The other part of him knew it was good for business and
just might bring the company back into a thriving system, where bikers
could get some respect again. So, when a local rich kid offered him
10,000 dollars to expand the shop, he took it. Reluctantly, accepted a
chance to buy some new tools, get bonded, insured, even had the business
officially certified with a doing business as 'Mickey's Motorcycles'
license.
Some people said Mickey's old man had gone to Mexico, others figured
he got caught up in some kind of deal gone awry. There was talk that he
was overseas, Amsterdam maybe. No one knew for sure. He had stopped
thinking about it a few years back. Mickey made the house payments, took
care of his grandmother and tolerated his Mothers new boyfriends as best
he could. So much had changed since they were kids, growing up in Venice
beach. Back then it was mostly poor folks, now the place was turning
into
something else: well known actors, architects, airline pilots. It was a
good
thing his old man bought the place otherwise Mickey and his girlfriend,
Moon, would have been out of that neighborhood years ago. They lived a
block and a half away from Dennis Hopper's house & when Hopper bought
a Harley, Mickey was the guy he brought it to. Who didn't want to hang
out with Dennis Hopper? Mickey had creds on the street and in the hills,
which was kind of rare. He had clients up and down the coast and didn't
mind much making house calls, even if it took a couple days. He'd crash
out on the couch or garage or guest house until the job was done. Most
guys liked his company and liked to hear him wax poetic about the early
days of Rock and Roll, his mom had been the manager of several bands
up in the bay area and he knew just about everyone from Jerry Garcia's
to The Moby Grape's. People would say that Mickey was made from a
kind of American counter culture royalty. But, he shunned all that talk.
One of those quiet throw backs, except when it came to Moon, his only
truly admittedly obsessive relationship. Whatever she wanted, she got.
Moon was his first and only love. Once they had broken up for a day and
a half during high school graduation. A Friday night and all of
Saturday,
by Sunday morning, they were back together and never looked back.
As he pulled into the driveway, he glanced over to find his mother's new
boyfriend's red convertible, the passenger side windshield was riddled
with
what looked like bullet holes, upon closer inspection, he realized the
holes
were made with stiletto heels kicked from the inside out. "Here we go."
he thought, as he turned off the bike and figured, o.k. this generator
is
fixed. He knew there was something brewing, so he quietly strolled past
the front house and headed straight for Pop's shed. Always a safe
refuge.
But there in the back yard was the boyfriend wearing nothing more than
a pair of Ray-Bans and in a see through nighty, his Mom attending the
barbecue. " For christ sake Mag, what if Calley walks back here ?"
who momentarily turns in his direction, " Oh Mick, grow up will ya ? "
She had been telling him that since the time he was ten years old :
"Your not a kid anymore mick, your ten years old now, grow up."
He did. Got back on the bike, which he hadn't planned on returning
to his client till tomorrow, ripped up Pacific Coast Highway and on
into Zuma Beach, collected his fee and instead of getting a ride from
Jay, simply hopped on the Bus and called it a day. That's when he
noticed a beach comber who sure looked a lot like his dad. "That's
impossible. Must be going nuts. I gotta get out of here." He did.
They Call It The City of Angels
Chapter Three: Josie
Josie was an artist. They had noticed that right away. By the time
she was three, she could sing a tune. By the time she was nine, she
could mimic any dance movement. By the time she was twelve she
could draw realistic pictures that were up to scratch with any adult.
Today is Josie's birthday. Her room is covered in teen beat posters.
Packs of Bubble-Yum chewing gum on the dresser. Photographs of
her girlfriend's at school, at the beach, at the park, award ribbons
from art, dance and singing contests, a letter of recommendation
from an art teacher at the local university, a pair of tennis shoes
in the corner and of course her dozens of sketchbooks filled with
classic portraits of friends, people she observed, objects, places.
Her parents had immigrated in the early nineteen sixties, they gave
her an American name, things were going to be hard enough for her
as it was, they figured, she was born here, she's the first American
in our family, lets go with the flow. Her Dad worked at a local factory,
her Mom was a homemaker of the old world style, she sewed, cooked,
gardened and kept the books. Josie was wide open when it came to
discussing friends, school, dreams and the future, but when it came to
her boyfriends, she never ever told a soul. Not her parents, not her
girlfriends, no one. So when she started dating Louis, who was a few
years older, no one had anything to worry about, because no one knew.
He had that protective quality that some guys have, she felt safe around
him. He was knocked out by her talents, even had her design tattoos for
him and his friends. It was a taboo sort of love, the kind that couldn't
last longer than a summer and it didn't. Louis eventually started dating
girls his age and Josie rebounded with a kid from her own school and
neighborhood. But deep down inside, she still had a love for Louis and
even though he didn't know it, he too was still in love with her.
By the time winter came along, they found themselves in the awkward
situation of having to see one another, sometimes in the company of
each others new playmates. At first this seemed easy, smile, wave, a
simple hello or how ya doing ? But after these moments, Louis found
himself troubled, confused, sometimes even angry. He didn't know who
he was angry with, Josie, the new boyfriend or himself, he just knew
that something wasn't exactly settled and it really confused him to the
point where sometimes he couldn't sleep. So, he started to call her up
just to say hi, then Josie's new boyfriend got word of this and reacted
accordingly. One thing led to another and now the boys were talking
about a showdown. The kind that spreads quickly, the word got out,
after a dance at school, they were going to meet and settled this thing.
Josie freaked when she found out, felt guilty, felt responsible and had
no one to tell because this was a part of her life she had always kept
to herself. So the pressure mounted until the night of the dance.
At first Josie said she wasn't going, then she changed her mind and told
Ryan, her new boyfriend, that she was going with friends and they could
talk after the dance, hoping this would diffuse the pressure and by then
she could help avoid an actual fight. Though, the way things went only
worsened the situation. Instead of avoiding a fist fight the entire
event
became a drag race through the boulevards of Los Angeles and by the
end of the night a car flipped in mid air, up an over the railroad
tracks.
Josie's Dad knocked on her bedroom door, no one answered. He called
her girlfriend's parents, no one knew what happened. Eventually they got
a call from officer Chuck of the county police department explaining
that
there had a been a terrible accident and could they please come down to
the Harbor hospital to help sort something out. They were unsure about
the identity of a person and needed verification. When Josie's parents
arrived, Chuck was standing in the hallway, clipboard in hand, this was
the most difficult part of his job. He could handle the tough guys, the
smart aleck public, the other cops on the squad, but he couldn't hold
his
water when it came to telling parents that we think your child is dead.
Josies's parents were led into a well lit room, two bodies were laying
on
aluminum stretchers with sheets covering each. The bodies had been
washed
of all blood, but there was nothing that could be done about all the
torn and
mangled flesh. Josie was under one of the sheets, Ryan was under the
other.
It was the first time their parents would ever meet. Eventually they
would
meet again in court and again at the arraignments and again upon Louis's
release from prison. Today is Josie's birthday and if she hadn't died
back in
nineteen seventy-six, she would have been thirty years old. Her dad
closed
the bedroom door, which he kept exactly as it had been the day she died,
wiped his eyes and promised himself that someone was gonna pay for this
pain. By then, he'd lost his wife and by now he began to lose is mind.
They Call It The City of Angels
Chapter Four: Jordan
Jordan is a bus driver, it didn't define him, he's also a bass man,
a basketball coach, a bit of a poet too. He is the youngest bus
driver in all of Los Angeles County. Came out here to get away
from a seriously tragic family history. Born in Detroit, the week
of the famous riots, his dad was a serious player and took the fall
for being a member of an elite crew of dudes who actually helped
to start it. His Mom was in and out of town so much, he hardly
knew her. Came out here alone on a one time musical scholarship.
Recently, he ended up hocking his bass, a red fender given to him
by his uncle, still had the pawn ticket in his wallet, been meaning
to get over there to extend the loan voucher another ninety days so
he could get it back after paying up in full. Wanted to buy his girl
a pair of earrings and figured he could always get the bass back,
but with his car payment, rent and all the rest, he just let it drift.
He was two weeks away from getting off probation from
the transit authority. Six weeks of training and almost a
year driving and finally he would be able to exhale. His first
route started near LAX Airport, up La Brea, over to Crenshaw,
past Leimert Park & around Rodeo, down Martin Luther King
to The Sports Arena and back around again. He liked it.
reminded him of his parents, his heritage, his people.
But now, they had him driving from Venice Boulevard onto
the 405 freeway, up through Santa Monica onto Pacific Coast
Highway, past Pepperdine University and all the way up to
Malibu Pier and back again. Most people would have loved
that route but Jordan always said the drivers were snobs, the
kids crossed the street without looking, carrying surfboards,
lawn chairs, tourists from all corners of the world, asking
directions to places he never heard of, in languages he never
knew. He was hoping to get his old route back, but as the odd
man at transit authority, the chances were mighty slim. Most
of the drivers, managers, supervisors and radio dispatch persons
were steeped in the Jesus thing: Baptist, Christian, Catholic,
Protestant, you name it. Jordan was a third generation Muslim.
His Daddy, his Granddad, his Uncles, some of his Aunts and him.
He had already made his four rotations by seven o'clock that
evening, grabbed a cup of coffee and was looking forward to
seeing his lady for a late dinner at her place. Just past the
Malibu Pier, an area where he was always extra careful, he
slowed down a bit and coasted around the curve through to
the next straight away stretch, the sun was setting a golden,
peach - like glow, palm trees silhouetted in an all black design
that looked like a postcard. It wasn't Crenshaw, but it could of
been worse. Some routes were very tough on a driver, others
were easy street. Looking down the highway, he noticed a small
dark circle along the horizon line, couldn't figure out what it was.
A trash-bag? A backpack ? As he got closer, the object came into
view, it was a turtle, a rather large sized turtle crawling from
left to right, he swerved to the right avoiding the turtle, as he
did so, a camper van parked on the right pulled out in front of
him, and as it did, that is when he noticed the beachcomber
standing directly in his path, hit the brakes, skidding several
yards and slamming into the beachcombers several bags and
eventually knocking him to the asphalt, he turned to ask the
lone passenger if he had seen what just happened, but not a
soul was on the bus. " Could have sworn that cat was still on."
The first thing you are supposed to do is call it in. But Jordan,
just on reflex jumped off the bus to see what happened. He
looked down and splayed across the highway were several
small packages wrapped in brown paper and masking tape.
He looked closer at the corner of one of the small bundles
and noticed it was full of currency, unmistakably dollar bills.
All day long he had to watch people putting bills into the slot
on his bus, the corners always bending, creating a problem.
If anyone knew what the corner of a dollar bill looked like,
it was Jordan. The beachcomber, was out like a light, but
when Jordan put his ear to the mans chest, he could hear him
breathing. He could also smell his breath, whiskey and onions.
Why a man does what he does is always a mystery, mostly to
the man himself, so when he reached to pick up one of the
bundles and put it in his inside left pocket, it seemed pretty
natural. He got back on the bus and called it in. By now the
sun was down. The highway was closed. Ambulance, cops,
transit authority, the whole shebang. When radio reporters,
traffic helicopters and the local television stations came out,
he figured that he was not only going to be late for dinner.
There was a good chance he was going to be fired, even if it
wasn't his fault, even if the guy was drunk. To top it off, the
turtle was no where to be seen, that was his whole defense.
Wanda heard about it on the radio before he even got home.
They Call It The City of Angels
Chapter Five: Cliff
Cliff was psychic, not for a living or anything like that. Just had
a knack for reading people, had a way with animals and a sort
of connection with the elements that was, let us say, out of the
ordinary. Like a lot of so-called handicapped persons, he had
some hidden gifts that made up for the fact that he couldn't
speak very well, had trouble with motor skills, would never be
able to hold down a job, keep a home or cook his own meals.
He was disabled as people like to say, remedial or worse even,
retarded. Cliff's father, Stan, was a judge, he always winced when
his colleagues used that term. His mother, Dora was a retired
lawyer who ran her own legal advisement company and would
actually correct people whenever they denigrated her son with
those types of labels. "Cliff is challenged, but he's no dummy." or
"He may need some help, but he's got a great heart." or "He has
his problems, but he's never said a bad thing about you." She was
nobodies fool. And by god she wasn't about to let people get away
with any mean spirited conversation about her only child.
He attended a sort of day care type of school. One in which there
were daily outings in between lessons, classes, working with sound,
colors, sometimes simplified mathematics and social sciences, to a
degree. In the classroom, his teachers were all certified practitioners,
but on daily social outings, volunteers were often on staff. Retired
widows, stay at home wives, middled aged women who were unmarried,
this kind of thing. They often took a group of kids to the park, out to
lunch or even to a museum every now and then. One day, one of Dora's
clients recognized him walking with his schoolmates and a volunteer
up past the L.A County Museum of Art. She specifically remembered
Cliff because her own daughter had some issues which led her to seek
legal advice and Cliff happened to be in the office with mom. Some
time later, the client mentioned in passing that she ran into Cliff at
the museum and couldn't help but notice that the kids were wearing
shirts and jackets of a wide variety with disparaging comments of
all sorts. Cliffs T-shirt, said in bold black letters : YOU STINK !
Another kid wore a hat that said, ' LOSER ' , another with a
jacket that stated, ' I never Loved You '. The client chuckled, asking
Dora where she bought it. Cliffs mom didn't buy it. In fact she had no
idea why her son was wearing it. Well, after some looking into, it
turned out that the ' volunteer ' had recently broke up with her boy
friend who happened to be a security guard at the museum, so she
made the kids wear these hats, coats and t-shirts unbeknownst to
any of the kids parents or the kids themselves. Further investigation
revealed that it had become a common practice among the volunteers
to do such a thing. The kids were being used as props. When Dora
found out about it in full, she brought it up to Stan and they decided
to do what any good legal family would do. They decided to sue.
Stan was a judge in high profile cases. Through the years, he had
watched his more liberal contemporaries end up in disparaging
posts such as traffic court in Compton or settling housing issues
Downtown, the Judge Judy type of detail. He had played his cards
right, literally. He was a kind man, patient, quiet, respected by his
bailiffs and well liked buy most of the people he worked with, not
necessarily by those he had sent to prison, but most everyone else.
Dora became a lawyer and later a legal advisor partly because they
were working in the same circles and partly to sort out the issues
they were having with Cliff early on. They loved Cliff immensely.
More than the usual parent might love a child and definitely more
than if he was, quote-unquote-normal. They had a nice size home
in the Valley and Stan drove North to work just a few miles away.
He tried not to bring his work home, but when your wife is a legal
advisor, a top notch lawyer really, it was almost impossible, cases
concerning children or abuse of authority or murder were always
a sticky issue, they both tended to lean pretty hard on the accused.
He was older by a few years, but Dora was mature for her age, so
it worked out pretty well. They all vacationed together twice a year
and during the holidays often took a cabin in the snowy topped local
mountains. Considering the situation with Cliff, they handled it well.
Around the time that Cliff became four, five and six , they noticed
he had a way of sensing what was going on , not only in their inner
lives, but also in the lives of people they worked with. If Stan had
a high profile case concerning an auto accident, Cliff might create
a drawing with unexplainable details. When Dora's mother was close
to death, he had drawn a picture of her final resting place two months
before they had chosen it. He was somehow reading the inner lives of
his parents and at first it freaked Stan out. Some days, before a big
trial,
Stan might peruse around cliffs room, looking for an image that might
help him with the case. Dora put a stop to it, but hey, who could blame
him? There son was psychic and they knew it. Wether Cliff knew it or not
didn't matter. Once, when Cliff was twelve, they woke up one early
morning
to find Cliff nestling with a Deer. He had no food to give it. He was
just
holding the dear, when they opened the door, it ran away. Another time,
a hummingbird flew into Cliffs room, sat on his finger, just sat there .
There were all kinds of encounters such as these. Dora thought maybe
she should mention it to a friend of a client who had written a book on
shamanism in the modern day, but Stan said no. He didn't want his
son ending up on some television show or lame story on NPR. It was
their secret. When Cliff got home that day, he took out a sketchbook
and drew a stunning and startling portrait of a man that Stan would
never forget, someone he hadn't thought about for fifteen years.
They Call It The City of Angels
Chapter Six: Chuck
Chuck wanted to make detective, so did half the guys in his
division. But he had been working on it actively for three and
a half years now. Had a friend downtown who advised him on
what to do, how to lay the groundwork. He started by making
friends on the street. If he found a tough guy, say, smoking pot
while driving. He'd pull him over, get his information, talk to
him a bit, instead of citing him, he'd tell him that smoking while
driving made no sense. He'd chat him up a bit, make a friend.
Later, after hours, he'd look up the kids record, run a check on
his family, find out where, when and how he hustled and made
it a point to meet him again. He did this for the past three years
and had connections all over Los Angeles, not just in his area.
He spent one day a week doing research, talking to other guys
who had made detective, even hanging around the division.
Everyone on the force knew he was angling, if it didn't interrupt
his local quotas, his desk duty and any other assignments,
no problem.
When word got out that his brother-in-law was getting out
of the joint after a fifteen year stint for manslaughter, people
started talking. Chuck realized that this was actually his
chance to make detective. These days everything on the street
was controlled by a unit of men incarcerated for decades and
sometimes for life. They gave the orders. Chuck knew that
after fifteen years, his brother-in-law, Junior had learned a
few things, things that could help Chuck move in on what they
call, the ' Big Dogs '. No detective would bother with some
small time peddlers, they all wanted a big catch, something
that would get some ink, something that would help them up
the ladder a few rungs. Recently, there had been a new crime
spreading through the city of Los Angeles. Somebody or a
group of people were torching palm trees in designated areas.
At first, they thought it was a kid or pyromaniac. As it spread
throughout Southern California, other theories popped up.
The burnt palm trees were a signal that certain local business
had not contributed to a certain individual or it was, 'a warning'
sign, 'a don't shop here' sign or a ' your on the list ' sign.
Chuck was in agreement that it was not random, he noticed
when, where and how it was playing out. Since making the
goal to become a detective, he had transformed the den into
an office. His wife and the girls knew Daddy was serious about
his work, so they watched television in the living room and
shared the master bedroom with bunk beds. While Chuck
and his wife Celia had what they commonly call a guest bed
room. Celia had an entire room to herself for dressing and
basic women's stuff with a vanity set Chuck bought when
they first got married.
In his office, which he always kept locked, Chuck had a map.
He followed murders: There had been over twenty-two in the
past ninety days. Drug busts: there had been three big ones in
the past forty-five days and dozens of small one's. Lately, he'd
been following the palm tree burnings. Even started reading
up on other incidents through history, from cross burnings to
lynching. Looking for something that might give him one up
on what was going down. The Mayor of Los Angeles, in an
official statement, directed to law enforcement had said that,
" The Palm Tree Burnings " were a scar on the city, were bad
for business, bad for tourism and had to be stopped. He wanted
a new kind of cooperation between departments wherever the
incidents had occurred. Incentives were given to both cops on
the street, detectives on the beat and even the local feds, since
several of the incidents had happened on federal property.
One happened on a reservation near Joshua Tree National
Forest and another happened directly in front of the Federal
building downtown. Some people said it was a scam, just another
distraction from the real crimes that were happening in L.A. :
Drug Smuggling, Child prostitution, Underground Pornography.
The so - called sanctioned crimes that made money. Chuck
didn't care what it was about, he had been told to get something
important on it and he'd be given a serious opportunity to make
detective. If he could crack the case, it was a total guarantee.
Several weeks earlier, Chuck went downtown to ask a couple
friends, one was a lieutenant detective, if they would give him
permission to tap the phones in his home. His brother-in-law
was getting out of the joint and maybe they could find out a
few things. The word would most likely come back officially
as a no. On his way home, he cranked up John Coltrane' s a
Love Supreme, while flying down the 110 freeway, he realized
that no one could stop him from recording any conversations
in his own home. He could drive out to the local Circuit Station,
buy some basic over the counter devices and wire the place up.
Chuck came from the generation that actually was offered shop
classes in junior high school. He had taken both wood shop and
electric classes, so, setting up the whole thing was not a big deal.
He wired the entire guest house in three hours and did it all for
less than what it would have cost to tune up the station wagon.
He couldn't tell Louis Sr. or Celia , they wouldn't understand.
It was his job. He knew that if they ever wanted to take another
vacation together, he'd have to make detective. Three days later,
Junior got out of prison and Chuck drove down to Ma Fritters
to get breakfast and check in with his father-in-law Louis Senior.
They talked about how to deal with Junior's Coming Home party.
'Are you heading back to the office ?' asked the waitress, ' Yep.'
Afterward, while driving back, he thought, ' Not for long babe. '
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
Joshua A. Triliegi's BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE Magazine The San Francisco Edition is an Affiliate of BUREAU of Arts and Culture NETWORK. We Delivered Paper Editions to Bay Area Residents, Book Stores, Shops, Art Galleries, Record Stores, Salons + More. Now With BUREAU Magazine Sites in New York, MidWest, South, Seattle, LA, Santa Barbara, San Diego, The Literary + NEWS Site. BUREAU Office 323 . 734 . 2877 Download The Exciting 200- 300+ Page E Edition Read by Millions Worldwide.
Friday, August 30, 2013
NEW FICTION : They Call it The City of Angels / CHAPTER FIVE / A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
They Call it The City of Angels
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Chapter Five: Cliff
Cliff was psychic, not for a living or anything like that. Just had
a knack for reading people, had a way with animals and a sort
of connection with the elements that was, let us say, out of the
ordinary. Like a lot of so-called handicapped persons, he had
some hidden gifts that made up for the fact that he couldn't
speak very well, had trouble with motor skills, would never be
able to hold down a job, keep a home or cook his own meals.
He was disabled as people like to say, remedial or worse even,
retarded. Cliff's father, Stan, was a judge, he always winced when
his colleagues used that term. His mother, Dora was a retired
lawyer who ran her own legal advisement company and would
actually correct people whenever they denigrated her son with
those types of labels. "Cliff is challenged, but he's no dummy." or
"He may need some help, but he's got a great heart." or "He has
his problems, but he's never said a bad thing about you." She was
nobodies fool. And by god she wasn't about to let people get away
with any mean spirited conversation about her only child.
He attended a sort of day care type of school. One in which there
were daily outings in between lessons, classes, working with sound,
colors, sometimes simplified mathematics and social sciences, to a
degree. In the classroom, his teachers were all certified practitioners,
but on daily social outings, volunteers were often on staff. Retired
widows, stay at home wives, middled aged women who were unmarried,
this kind of thing. They often took a group of kids to the park, out to
lunch or even to a museum every now and then. One day, one of Dora's
clients recognized him walking with his schoolmates and a volunteer
up past the L.A County Museum of Art. She specifically remembered
Cliff because her own daughter had some issues which led her to seek
legal advice and Cliff happened to be in the office with mom. Some
time later, the client mentioned in passing that she ran into Cliff at
the museum and couldn't help but notice that the kids were wearing
shirts and jackets of a wide variety with disparaging comments of
all sorts. Cliffs T-shirt, said in bold black letters : YOU STINK !
Another kid wore a hat that said, ' LOSER ' , another with a
jacket that stated, ' I never Loved You '. The client chuckled, asking
Dora where she bought it. Cliffs mom didn't buy it. In fact she had no
idea why her son was wearing it. Well, after some looking into, it
turned out that the ' volunteer ' had recently broke up with her boy
friend who happened to be a security guard at the museum, so she
made the kids wear these hats, coats and t-shirts unbeknownst to
any of the kids parents or the kids themselves. Further investigation
revealed that it had become a common practice among the volunteers
to do such a thing. The kids were being used as props. When Dora
found out about it in full, she brought it up to Stan and they decided
to do what any good legal family would do. They decided to sue.
Stan was a judge in high profile cases. Through the years, he had
watched his more liberal contemporaries end up in disparaging
posts such as traffic court in Compton or settling housing issues
Downtown, the Judge Judy type of detail. He had played his cards
right, literally. He was a kind man, patient, quiet, respected by his
bailiffs and well liked buy most of the people he worked with, not
necessarily by those he had sent to prison, but most everyone else.
Dora became a lawyer and later a legal advisor partly because they
were working in the same circles and partly to sort out the issues
they were having with Cliff early on. They loved Cliff immensely.
More than the usual parent might love a child and definitely more
than if he was, quote-unquote-normal. They had a nice size home
in the Valley and Stan drove North to work just a few miles away.
He tried not to bring his work home, but when your wife is a legal
advisor, a top notch lawyer really, it was almost impossible, cases
concerning children or abuse of authority or murder were always
a sticky issue, they both tended to lean pretty hard on the accused.
He was older by a few years, but Dora was mature for her age, so
it worked out pretty well. They all vacationed together twice a year
and during the holidays often took a cabin in the snowy topped local
mountains. Considering the situation with Cliff, they handled it well.
Around the time that Cliff became four, five and six , they noticed
he had a way of sensing what was going on , not only in their inner
lives, but also in the lives of people they worked with. If Stan had
a high profile case concerning an auto accident, Cliff might create
a drawing with unexplainable details. When Dora's mother was close
to death, he had drawn a picture of her final resting place two months
before they had chosen it. He was somehow reading the inner lives of
his parents and at first it freaked Stan out. Some days, before a big
trial,
Stan might peruse around cliffs room, looking for an image that might
help him with the case. Dora put a stop to it, but hey, who could blame
him? There son was psychic and they knew it. Wether Cliff knew it or not
didn't matter. Once, when Cliff was twelve, they woke up one early
morning
to find Cliff nestling with a Deer. He had no food to give it. He was
just
holding the dear, when they opened the door, it ran away. Another time,
a hummingbird flew into Cliffs room, sat on his finger, just sat there .
There were all kinds of encounters such as these. Dora thought maybe
she should mention it to a friend of a client who had written a book on
shamanism in the modern day, but Stan said no. He didn't want his
son ending up on some television show or story on NPR. It was their
secret. When Cliff got home that day, he took out a sketchbook
and drew a stunning and startling portrait of a man that Stan would
never forget, someone he hadn't thought about for fifteen years.
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Chapter Five: Cliff
Cliff was psychic, not for a living or anything like that. Just had
a knack for reading people, had a way with animals and a sort
of connection with the elements that was, let us say, out of the
ordinary. Like a lot of so-called handicapped persons, he had
some hidden gifts that made up for the fact that he couldn't
speak very well, had trouble with motor skills, would never be
able to hold down a job, keep a home or cook his own meals.
He was disabled as people like to say, remedial or worse even,
retarded. Cliff's father, Stan, was a judge, he always winced when
his colleagues used that term. His mother, Dora was a retired
lawyer who ran her own legal advisement company and would
actually correct people whenever they denigrated her son with
those types of labels. "Cliff is challenged, but he's no dummy." or
"He may need some help, but he's got a great heart." or "He has
his problems, but he's never said a bad thing about you." She was
nobodies fool. And by god she wasn't about to let people get away
with any mean spirited conversation about her only child.
He attended a sort of day care type of school. One in which there
were daily outings in between lessons, classes, working with sound,
colors, sometimes simplified mathematics and social sciences, to a
degree. In the classroom, his teachers were all certified practitioners,
but on daily social outings, volunteers were often on staff. Retired
widows, stay at home wives, middled aged women who were unmarried,
this kind of thing. They often took a group of kids to the park, out to
lunch or even to a museum every now and then. One day, one of Dora's
clients recognized him walking with his schoolmates and a volunteer
up past the L.A County Museum of Art. She specifically remembered
Cliff because her own daughter had some issues which led her to seek
legal advice and Cliff happened to be in the office with mom. Some
time later, the client mentioned in passing that she ran into Cliff at
the museum and couldn't help but notice that the kids were wearing
shirts and jackets of a wide variety with disparaging comments of
all sorts. Cliffs T-shirt, said in bold black letters : YOU STINK !
Another kid wore a hat that said, ' LOSER ' , another with a
jacket that stated, ' I never Loved You '. The client chuckled, asking
Dora where she bought it. Cliffs mom didn't buy it. In fact she had no
idea why her son was wearing it. Well, after some looking into, it
turned out that the ' volunteer ' had recently broke up with her boy
friend who happened to be a security guard at the museum, so she
made the kids wear these hats, coats and t-shirts unbeknownst to
any of the kids parents or the kids themselves. Further investigation
revealed that it had become a common practice among the volunteers
to do such a thing. The kids were being used as props. When Dora
found out about it in full, she brought it up to Stan and they decided
to do what any good legal family would do. They decided to sue.
Stan was a judge in high profile cases. Through the years, he had
watched his more liberal contemporaries end up in disparaging
posts such as traffic court in Compton or settling housing issues
Downtown, the Judge Judy type of detail. He had played his cards
right, literally. He was a kind man, patient, quiet, respected by his
bailiffs and well liked buy most of the people he worked with, not
necessarily by those he had sent to prison, but most everyone else.
Dora became a lawyer and later a legal advisor partly because they
were working in the same circles and partly to sort out the issues
they were having with Cliff early on. They loved Cliff immensely.
More than the usual parent might love a child and definitely more
than if he was, quote-unquote-normal. They had a nice size home
in the Valley and Stan drove North to work just a few miles away.
He tried not to bring his work home, but when your wife is a legal
advisor, a top notch lawyer really, it was almost impossible, cases
concerning children or abuse of authority or murder were always
a sticky issue, they both tended to lean pretty hard on the accused.
He was older by a few years, but Dora was mature for her age, so
it worked out pretty well. They all vacationed together twice a year
and during the holidays often took a cabin in the snowy topped local
mountains. Considering the situation with Cliff, they handled it well.
Around the time that Cliff became four, five and six , they noticed
he had a way of sensing what was going on , not only in their inner
lives, but also in the lives of people they worked with. If Stan had
a high profile case concerning an auto accident, Cliff might create
a drawing with unexplainable details. When Dora's mother was close
to death, he had drawn a picture of her final resting place two months
before they had chosen it. He was somehow reading the inner lives of
his parents and at first it freaked Stan out. Some days, before a big
trial,
Stan might peruse around cliffs room, looking for an image that might
help him with the case. Dora put a stop to it, but hey, who could blame
him? There son was psychic and they knew it. Wether Cliff knew it or not
didn't matter. Once, when Cliff was twelve, they woke up one early
morning
to find Cliff nestling with a Deer. He had no food to give it. He was
just
holding the dear, when they opened the door, it ran away. Another time,
a hummingbird flew into Cliffs room, sat on his finger, just sat there .
There were all kinds of encounters such as these. Dora thought maybe
she should mention it to a friend of a client who had written a book on
shamanism in the modern day, but Stan said no. He didn't want his
son ending up on some television show or story on NPR. It was their
secret. When Cliff got home that day, he took out a sketchbook
and drew a stunning and startling portrait of a man that Stan would
never forget, someone he hadn't thought about for fifteen years.
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Editor and Writer Joshua TRILIEGI shares Insights on creating " They Call It The City of Angels " A New Serial Novel Project
The Editor and Publisher of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE
Announces a New Experimental Serial Novel about Los Angeles.
Mr Triliegi will write a chapter a day for the next few weeks and
post the results in various languages at the three blog spots that
regularly showcase Art, Theater, Music and Community events.
" I thought it would be a good writing exercise to simply write
about what I see and hear everyday on the streets of the city.
To simply create a chapter a day based on the people and things
going on in Los Angeles. Since we all come from so many back-
grounds, styles, cultures and languages, I decided to structure
the multi character novel to represent all of Los Angeles. I simply
write a chapter a day by allowing the characters to unfold & the
story to reveal itself based directly on the things I see and hear."
" Its pure fiction based on generalities. For instance, Chapter
Three, which was inspired by a girl I saw on the bus earlier in
the day, she had a sketch book with some nice artworks and I
thought about her." Or Chapter One, based on a conversation
I had with a guy who was entering back into society from a
long stretch in the penitentiary. I thought about what other
people in his life may have been thinking."
" Its a challenge to simply introduce a character and follow the
creative line as it flows into something structured and complete.
I usually know the beginning and the end of each Chapter, and
simply let the middle fill itself out. I like the daily discipline as
well as the audience being in on the process. In this particular
case, I don't really take notes. I just start with an idea and let
it flow. This is not a normal novel by any means, but it is a new
and interesting challenge for both the writer and the readers.
Were publishing it in three cities and a wide variety of languages,
English, Italian, French, Chinese, Armenian, Chinese, Hebrew,
Japanese & Korean so far. Its been a lot of fun I hope the people
of Los Angeles and the world will follow it out as it reveals itself.
As the writer, in this particular case, I am just as curious as the
reader as to what will happen and how things will go. The cool
thing about this project is how quickly the characters began to
take on a life of their own. "
" Its an interesting way to work. I am putting together several
other writing projects and decided that this would be a good
warmer upper. We get anywhere from a 50 to 400+ views a
day on our website for our Articles, Reviews and especially
our Audio Interviews, so this particular literature project should
be good exercise and at the same time, allow people to see how
a novel is actually created day by day."
Thank You,
Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Editor - in - Chief
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
Announces a New Experimental Serial Novel about Los Angeles.
Mr Triliegi will write a chapter a day for the next few weeks and
post the results in various languages at the three blog spots that
regularly showcase Art, Theater, Music and Community events.
" I thought it would be a good writing exercise to simply write
about what I see and hear everyday on the streets of the city.
To simply create a chapter a day based on the people and things
going on in Los Angeles. Since we all come from so many back-
grounds, styles, cultures and languages, I decided to structure
the multi character novel to represent all of Los Angeles. I simply
write a chapter a day by allowing the characters to unfold & the
story to reveal itself based directly on the things I see and hear."
" Its pure fiction based on generalities. For instance, Chapter
Three, which was inspired by a girl I saw on the bus earlier in
the day, she had a sketch book with some nice artworks and I
thought about her." Or Chapter One, based on a conversation
I had with a guy who was entering back into society from a
long stretch in the penitentiary. I thought about what other
people in his life may have been thinking."
" Its a challenge to simply introduce a character and follow the
creative line as it flows into something structured and complete.
I usually know the beginning and the end of each Chapter, and
simply let the middle fill itself out. I like the daily discipline as
well as the audience being in on the process. In this particular
case, I don't really take notes. I just start with an idea and let
it flow. This is not a normal novel by any means, but it is a new
and interesting challenge for both the writer and the readers.
Were publishing it in three cities and a wide variety of languages,
English, Italian, French, Chinese, Armenian, Chinese, Hebrew,
Japanese & Korean so far. Its been a lot of fun I hope the people
of Los Angeles and the world will follow it out as it reveals itself.
As the writer, in this particular case, I am just as curious as the
reader as to what will happen and how things will go. The cool
thing about this project is how quickly the characters began to
take on a life of their own. "
" Its an interesting way to work. I am putting together several
other writing projects and decided that this would be a good
warmer upper. We get anywhere from a 50 to 400+ views a
day on our website for our Articles, Reviews and especially
our Audio Interviews, so this particular literature project should
be good exercise and at the same time, allow people to see how
a novel is actually created day by day."
Thank You,
Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Editor - in - Chief
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
NEW FICTION : They Call it The City of Angels / CHAPTER FOUR / A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
They Call it The City of Angels
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Chapter Four: Jordan
Jordan is a bus driver, it didn't define him, he's also a bass man,
a basketball coach, a bit of a poet too. He is the youngest bus
driver in all of Los Angeles County. Came out here to get away
from a seriously tragic family history. Born in Detroit, the week
of the famous riots, his dad was a serious player and took the fall
for being a member of an elite crew of dudes who actually helped
to start it. His Mom was in and out of town so much, he hardly
knew her. Came out here alone on a one time musical scholarship.
Recently, he ended up hocking his bass, a red fender given to him
by his uncle, still had the pawn ticket in his wallet, been meaning
to get over there to extend the loan voucher another ninety days so
he could get it back after paying up in full. Wanted to buy his girl
a pair of earrings and figured he could always get the bass back,
but with his car payment, rent and all the rest, he just let it drift.
He was two weeks away from getting off probation from
the transit authority. Six weeks of training and almost a
year driving and finally he would be able to exhale. His first
route started near LAX Airport, up La Brea, over to Crenshaw,
past Leimert Park & around Rodeo, down Martin Luther King
to The Sports Arena and back around again. He liked it.
reminded him of his parents, his heritage, his people.
But now, they had him driving from Venice Boulevard onto
the 405 freeway, up through Santa Monica onto Pacific Coast
Highway, past Pepperdine University and all the way up to
Malibu Pier and back again. Most people would have loved
that route but Jordan always said the drivers were snobs, the
kids crossed the street without looking, carrying surfboards,
lawn chairs, tourists from all corners of the world, asking
directions to places he never heard of, in languages he never
knew. He was hoping to get his old route back, but as the odd
man at transit authority, the chances were mighty slim. Most
of the drivers, managers, supervisors and radio dispatch persons
were steeped in the Jesus thing: Baptist, Christian, Catholic,
Protestant, you name it. Jordan was a third generation Muslim.
His Daddy, his Granddad, his Uncles, some of his Aunts and him.
He had already made his four rotations by seven o'clock that
evening, grabbed a cup of coffee and was looking forward to
seeing his lady for a late dinner at her place. Just past the
Malibu Pier, an area where he was always extra careful, he
slowed down a bit and coasted around the curve through to
the next straight away stretch, the sun was setting a golden,
peach - like glow, palm trees silhouetted in an all black design
that looked like a postcard. It wasn't Crenshaw, but it could of
been worse. Some routes were very tough on a driver, others
were easy street. Looking down the highway, he noticed a small
dark circle along the horizon line, couldn't figure out what it was.
A trash-bag? A backpack ? As he got closer, the object came into
view, it was a turtle, a rather large sized turtle crawling from
left to right, he swerved to the right avoiding the turtle, as he
did so, a camper van parked on the right pulled out in front of
him, and as it did, that is when he noticed the beachcomber
standing directly in his path, hit the brakes, skidding several
yards and slamming into the beachcombers several bags and
eventually knocking him to the asphalt, he turned to ask the
lone passenger if he had seen what just happened, but not a
soul was on the bus. " Could have sworn that cat was still on."
The first thing you are supposed to do is call it in. But Jordan,
just on reflex jumped off the bus to see what happened. He
looked down and splayed across the highway were several
small packages wrapped in brown paper and masking tape.
He looked closer at the corner of one of the small bundles
and noticed it was full of currency, unmistakably dollar bills.
All day long he had to watch people putting bills into the slot
on his bus, the corners always bending, creating a problem.
If anyone knew what the corner of a dollar bill looked like,
it was Jordan. The beachcomber, was out like a light, but
when Jordan put his ear to the mans chest, he could hear him
breathing. He could also smell his breath, whiskey and onions.
Why a man does what he does is always a mystery, mostly to
the man himself, so when he reached to pick up one of the
bundles and put it in his inside left pocket, it seemed pretty
natural. He got back on the bus and called it in. By now the
sun was down. The highway was closed. Ambulance, cops,
transit authority, the whole shebang. When radio reporters,
traffic helicopters and the local television stations came out,
He figured that he was not only going to be late for dinner.
There was a good chance he was going to be fired, even if it
wasn't his fault, even if the guy was drunk. To top it off, the
turtle was no where to be seen. That was his whole defense.
Wanda heard about it on the radio before he even got home.
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
NEW FICTION : They Call it The City of Angels / CHAPTER THREE / A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
They Call it The City of Angels
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Printed here in English, Armenian and Japanese choose the
language selector to the left for your language.
Chapter Three: Josie
Josie was an artist. They had noticed that right away. By the time
she was three, she could sing a tune. By the time she was nine, she
could mimic any dance movement. By the time she was twelve she
could draw realistic pictures that were up to scratch with any adult.
Today is Josie's birthday. Her room is covered in teen beat posters.
Packs of Bubble-Yum chewing gum on the dresser. Photographs of
her girlfriend's at school, at the beach, at the park, award ribbons
from art, dance and singing contests, a letter of recommendation
from an art teacher at the local university, a pair of tennis shoes
in the corner and of course her dozens of sketchbooks filled with
classic portraits of friends, people she observed, objects, places.
Her parents had immigrated in the early nineteen sixties, they gave
her an American name, things were going to be hard enough for her
as it was, they figured, she was born here, she's the first American
in our family, lets go with the flow. Her Dad worked at a local factory,
her Mom was a homemaker of the old world style, she sewed, cooked,
gardened and kept the books. Josie was wide open when it came to
discussing friends, school, dreams and the future, but when it cam to
her boyfriends, she never ever told a soul. Not her parents, not her
girlfriends, no one. So when she started dating Louis, who was a few
years older, no one had anything to worry about, because no one knew.
He had that protective quality that some guys have, she felt safe around
him. He was knocked out by her talents, even had her design tattoos for
him and his friends. It was a taboo sort of love, the kind that couldn't
last longer than a summer and it didn't. Louis eventually started dating
girls his age and Josie rebounded with a kid from her own school and
neighborhood. But deep down inside, she still had a love for Louis and
even though he didn't know it, he too was still in love with her.
By the time winter came along, they found themselves in the awkward
situation of having to see one another, sometimes in the company of
each others new playmates. At first this seemed easy, smile, wave, a
simple hello or how ya doing ? But after these moments, Louis found
himself troubled, confused, sometimes even angry. He didn't know who
he was angry with, Josie, the new boyfriend or himself, he just knew
that something wasn't exactly settled and it really confused him to the
point where sometimes he couldn't sleep. So, he started to call her up
just to say hi, then Josie's new boyfriend got word of this and reacted
accordingly. One thing led to another and now the boys were talking
about a showdown. The kind that spreads quickly, the word got out,
after a dance at school, they were going to meet and settled this thing.
Josie freaked when she found out, felt guilty, felt responsible and had
no one to tell because this was a part of her life she had always kept
to herself. So the pressure mounted until the night of the dance. At
first Josie said she wasn't going, then she changed her mind and told
Ryan, her new boyfriend that she was going with friends and they could
talk after the dance, hoping this would diffuse the pressure and by then
she could help avoid an actual fight. Though, the way things went only
worsened the situation. Instead of avoiding a fist fight the entire
event
became a drag race through the boulevards of Los Angeles and by the
end of the night a car flipped in mid air up an over the railroad
tracks.
Josie's Dad knocked on her bedroom door, no one answered. He called
her girlfriend's parents no one knew what happened. Eventually they got
a call from officer Chuck of the county police department explaining
that
there had a been a terrible accident and could they please come down to
the Harbor hospital to help sort something out. They were unsure about
the identity of a person and needed verification. When Josie's parents
arrived,Chuck was standing in the hallway, clipboard in hand, this was
the most difficult part of his job. He could handle the tough guys, the
smart aleck public, the other cops on the squad, but he couldn't hold
his
water when it came to telling parents that we think your child is dead.
Josies's parents were led into a well lit room, two bodies were laying
on
aluminum stretchers with sheets covering each. The bodies had been
washed
of all blood, but there was nothing that could be done about all the
torn and
mangled flesh. Josie was under one of the sheets, Ryan was under the
other.
It was the first time their parents would ever meet. Eventually they
would
meet again in court and again at the arraignments and again upon Louis's
release from prison. Today is Josie's birthday and if she hadn't died
back in
nineteen seventy-six, she would have been thirty years old. Her dad
closed
the bedroom door, which he kept exactly as it had been the day she died,
wiped his eyes and promised himself that someone was gonna pay for this
pain. By then, he'd lost his wife and by now, he began to lose is mind.
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
NEW գեղարվեստական: Նրանք այն անվանում են քաղաքը Angels / ԳԼՈՒԽ ԵՐԵՔ / A New Serial Novel Ըստ Joshua A. TRILIEGI
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Printed here in English, Armenian and Japanese choose the
language selector to the left for your language.
Chapter Three: Josie
Josie was an artist. They had noticed that right away. By the time
she was three, she could sing a tune. By the time she was nine, she
could mimic any dance movement. By the time she was twelve she
could draw realistic pictures that were up to scratch with any adult.
Today is Josie's birthday. Her room is covered in teen beat posters.
Packs of Bubble-Yum chewing gum on the dresser. Photographs of
her girlfriend's at school, at the beach, at the park, award ribbons
from art, dance and singing contests, a letter of recommendation
from an art teacher at the local university, a pair of tennis shoes
in the corner and of course her dozens of sketchbooks filled with
classic portraits of friends, people she observed, objects, places.
Her parents had immigrated in the early nineteen sixties, they gave
her an American name, things were going to be hard enough for her
as it was, they figured, she was born here, she's the first American
in our family, lets go with the flow. Her Dad worked at a local factory,
her Mom was a homemaker of the old world style, she sewed, cooked,
gardened and kept the books. Josie was wide open when it came to
discussing friends, school, dreams and the future, but when it cam to
her boyfriends, she never ever told a soul. Not her parents, not her
girlfriends, no one. So when she started dating Louis, who was a few
years older, no one had anything to worry about, because no one knew.
He had that protective quality that some guys have, she felt safe around
him. He was knocked out by her talents, even had her design tattoos for
him and his friends. It was a taboo sort of love, the kind that couldn't
last longer than a summer and it didn't. Louis eventually started dating
girls his age and Josie rebounded with a kid from her own school and
neighborhood. But deep down inside, she still had a love for Louis and
even though he didn't know it, he too was still in love with her.
By the time winter came along, they found themselves in the awkward
situation of having to see one another, sometimes in the company of
each others new playmates. At first this seemed easy, smile, wave, a
simple hello or how ya doing ? But after these moments, Louis found
himself troubled, confused, sometimes even angry. He didn't know who
he was angry with, Josie, the new boyfriend or himself, he just knew
that something wasn't exactly settled and it really confused him to the
point where sometimes he couldn't sleep. So, he started to call her up
just to say hi, then Josie's new boyfriend got word of this and reacted
accordingly. One thing led to another and now the boys were talking
about a showdown. The kind that spreads quickly, the word got out,
after a dance at school, they were going to meet and settled this thing.
Josie freaked when she found out, felt guilty, felt responsible and had
no one to tell because this was a part of her life she had always kept
to herself. So the pressure mounted until the night of the dance. At
first Josie said she wasn't going, then she changed her mind and told
Ryan, her new boyfriend that she was going with friends and they could
talk after the dance, hoping this would diffuse the pressure and by then
she could help avoid an actual fight. Though, the way things went only
worsened the situation. Instead of avoiding a fist fight the entire
event
became a drag race through the boulevards of Los Angeles and by the
end of the night a car flipped in mid air up an over the railroad
tracks.
Josie's Dad knocked on her bedroom door, no one answered. He called
her girlfriend's parents no one knew what happened. Eventually they got
a call from officer Chuck of the county police department explaining
that
there had a been a terrible accident and could they please come down to
the Harbor hospital to help sort something out. They were unsure about
the identity of a person and needed verification. When Josie's parents
arrived,Chuck was standing in the hallway, clipboard in hand, this was
the most difficult part of his job. He could handle the tough guys, the
smart aleck public, the other cops on the squad, but he couldn't hold
his
water when it came to telling parents that we think your child is dead.
Josies's parents were led into a well lit room, two bodies were laying
on
aluminum stretchers with sheets covering each. The bodies had been
washed
of all blood, but there was nothing that could be done about all the
torn and
mangled flesh. Josie was under one of the sheets, Ryan was under the
other.
It was the first time their parents would ever meet. Eventually they
would
meet again in court and again at the arraignments and again upon Louis's
release from prison. Today is Josie's birthday and if she hadn't died
back in
nineteen seventy-six, she would have been thirty years old. Her dad
closed
the bedroom door, which he kept exactly as it had been the day she died,
wiped his eyes and promised himself that someone was gonna pay for this
pain. By then, he'd lost his wife and by now, he began to lose is mind.
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
CONTACT : JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET
LA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com
BAY AREA : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com
NEW YORK : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com
Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
NEW գեղարվեստական: Նրանք այն անվանում են քաղաքը Angels / ԳԼՈՒԽ ԵՐԵՔ / A New Serial Novel Ըստ Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Նրանք այն անվանում են քաղաքը Angels Նոր Serial Novel Ըստ Joshua A. TRILIEGI բացառապես ընթերցողների բյուրոյի Մշակույթ եւ մեր երեք կայքերի Լոս Անջելեսում, Սան Ֆրանցիսկո եւ Նյու Յորքում բոլոր ազգային եւ միջազգային Copy իրավունքները պաշտպանված են Հեղինակը գլխով Երեք: Josie Josie էր նկարիչ. Նրանք նկատել են, որ հենց հիմա. Ըստ ժամանակ նա եղել երեք, նա կարող է երգել մի մեղեդի. Ըստ ժամանակ նա եղել է ինը, նա կարող է նմանակող ցանկացած պարային շարժումը. Ըստ ժամանակ նա տասներկու նա կարող է նկարել իրատեսական լուսանկարներ, որոնք մինչեւ քորում որեւէ մեծահասակ Այսօր Josie ծննդյան. Իր սենյակում, որը ծածկված է դեռահասը ծեծի պաստառներով. մորթե - Bubble - Յամ Մաստակ է պահարանի. Լուսանկարներ նրա ընկերուհու է դպրոցում, ժամը լողափ, այգու, մրցանակ ժապավեններ են արվեստի, պարի եւ երգի մրցույթներ, նամակով առաջարկությամբ է արվեստի ուսուցիչ տեղական համալսարանի մի զույգ թենիսի կոշիկի անկյունում եւ, իհարկե, իր տասնյակ sketchbooks լցված դասական դիմանկարները ընկերների, մարդիկ, որ նա նկատել է, օբյեկտների, տեղերում : Նրա ծնողները, որ ներգաղթել վաղ տասնինն sixties, տվին նրան Ամերիկյան անունը բաներ են լինելու դժվար բավարար նրա , քանի որ, նրանք նախշավոր նա ծնվել է այստեղ, նա առաջին ամերիկյան մեր ընտանիքի, թույլ է տալիս գնալ հետ հոսքի. Նրա Dad աշխատել տեղական գործարանի նրա Mom էր homemaker հին աշխարհի ոճով, նա Կարված, եփած, gardened եւ պահվում են գրքեր Josie էր լայն բացել, երբ այն գալիս է քննարկում ընկերների, դպրոցի, երազանքների ու ապագայի, բայց երբ ռուլետկա է իր boyfriends, այդպես էլ երբեւէ ասել է հոգին. Ոչ նրա ծնողները, ոչ իր girlfriends, ոչ ոք. Այնպես որ, երբ նա սկսեց dating Louis, որը մի քանի տարի ավելի, ոչ ոք չէր ոչինչ անհանգստանալու, քանի որ ոչ ոք չգիտեր: Նա է, որ պաշտպանական որակը, որ որոշ տղաները ունեն, նա զգաց, անվտանգ են նրան. Նա նոկաուտի է իր տաղանդների, նույնիսկ իր դիզայներական դաջվածքներ են իր եւ իր ընկերների Դա մի տեսակ տաբու սիրո ինչ որ կարող է տեւել ավելի երկար, քան ամռանը, եւ այն չի. Louis, ի վերջո, սկսվեց Ծանոթություն աղջիկներին իր տարիքը եւ Josie rebounded հետ երեխայի, իր սեփական դպրոցն ու բակերը. Սակայն խորը վար ներսում, նա դեռ մի սեր Լուի եւ թեեւ նա չգիտեր այն, որ նա շատ էր սիրում նրան. Մինչեւ ձմեռային եկավ մեկտեղ, նրանք հայտնվել են անհարմար իրավիճակում ունենալու տեսնել մեկին այլ, երբեմն ընկերության միմյանց նոր Playmates. Առաջին հայացքից այս էր հեշտ, ժպիտը, ալիքը, մի պարզ ողջույն, կամ ինչպես ya անում. Բայց հետո այդ պահերին, Louis գտել ինքը մտահոգված, շփոթված, երբեմն նույնիսկ զայրացած. Նա չգիտեր, որ նա զայրացած է, Josie, նոր ընկերոջ հետ, կամ ինքն իրեն, նա պարզապես գիտեր , որ մի բան էր, թե հենց կարգավորվի, եւ դա, իրոք, շփոթված նրան կետում, որտեղ երբեմն նա չէր կարողանում քնել. Այնպես որ, նա սկսեց զանգահարել նրան պարզապես ասել hi, այնուհետեւ Josie նոր ընկերոջ էլ խոսքը, եւ արձագանքել համապատասխան Մի բան հանգեցրել մյուսը, եւ հիմա տղաները խոսում էին մի showdown. Ինչ է, որ տարածվում է արագ, խոսքը դուրս, հետո պարի դպրոցում, իրենք պատրաստվում են հանդիպել եւ բնակություն այդ բանը. Josie գծավոր, երբ նա իմացել են, զգացել մեղավոր, զգացի պատասխանատու է եւ ոչ մեկին ասելու, քանի որ դա եղել է մաս իր կյանքում, նա միշտ պահել է դնում. Այնպես որ ճնշումը մոնտաժված մինչեւ գիշերը պարի. At առաջին Josie ասաց նա չի պատրաստվում, ապա նա փոխել է իր միտքը եւ ասաց Ryan, իր նոր ընկերոջ, որ նա պատրաստվում էր ընկերների հետ, եւ նրանք կարող են խոսել, երբ պարի, հույս ունենալով, որ դա տարածված ճնշումը եւ ապա նա կարող է օգնել խուսափել է փաստացի պայքարում. Չնայած, որ ճանապարհը բաներ էր միայն վատթարացել իրավիճակը. Փոխարենը խուսափելով բռունցքը պայքարել ամբողջ իրադարձությունը դարձավ քաշել մրցավազքը միջոցով Պուրակներ Լոս Անջելեսի իսկ վերջում գիշերը մեքենան շրջված կեսերին օդում, մինչեւ որ ավելի երկաթուղային հետքերով. Josie ծանոթյություններ Dad թակեցի իր ննջարանում դուռը, ոչ ոք չի պատասխանել : Նա կոչ է արել իր ընկերուհու ծնողները ոչ ոք չգիտեր, թե ինչ է տեղի ունեցել. Ի վերջո, նրանք զանգահարեցին սպա Chuck - րդ շրջանի ոստիկանությունում բացատրելով , որ կա մի մի սարսափելի վթարի է եւ կարող է դրանք, խնդրում իջել են նավահանգիստ հիվանդանոց օգնել Ով ինչ - որ բան դուրս. Նրանք վստահ ինքնության անձի եւ անհրաժեշտ ստուգման. Երբ Josie ծնողները գալիս, Chuck կանգնած միջանցքում, clipboard ձեռքին, այս էր ամենադժվար մասը իր աշխատանքի. Նա կարող էր կարգավորել կոշտ guys, որ խելացի Aleck հանրային, այլ cops է ջոկատի, սակայն նա չի կարող զբաղեցնել իր ջուրը, երբ այն գալիս է ասելու, որ մենք ծնողներին, որ Ձեր երեխան մահացել է Josies ծնողները, որոնք առաջնորդվում են մի լավ լուսավորված սենյակում երկու դիակները երեսարկման եւ ալյումինե Պատգարակներ կապնվել թերթերով լուսաբանող ական Մարմիններն էին լվանում է բոլոր արյունը, բայց ոչինչ, որ կարող է անել բոլոր պատռված եւ mangled մարմնում. Josie տակ մեկի թերթերով, Ryan տակ էր, որ այլ էր: Առաջին անգամ նրանց ծնողները երբեւէ հանդիպել. Ի վերջո, նրանք կարող են կրկին ու կրկին դատարանում է arraignments եւ նորից է Լուի ծանոթյություններ ազատելու բանտում. Այսօր Josie ծննդյան, իսկ եթե նա չի մահացել ետ տասնինն յոթանասուն վեց, նա կլիներ երեսուն տարեկան. Նրա հայրը փակել ննջարան դուռը, որը նա պահել այնպես, ինչպես դա եղել է այն օրը, որ նա մահացել է, սրբեց անոր աչքերը, եւ խոստացել է, իր ինչ - որ մեկը եղել է gonna վճարել այդ ցավը. Ըստ այդ նա ուզում կորցրել է իր կնոջը, եւ հիմա, նա սկսեց կորցնել այն միտքը,
MAIN SITE: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com Կապ: JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET LA: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com BAY AREA: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF : blogspot.com NEW YORK: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles California USA 90026 Հեռ Direct: 213 975 0067
NEW FICTION：彼らはそれ天使/ CHAPTER THREE /ジョシュアA. TRILIEGIによる新連載小説の市コール
MAIN SITE: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com Կապ: JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET LA: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com BAY AREA: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF : blogspot.com NEW YORK: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles California USA 90026 Հեռ Direct: 213 975 0067
NEW FICTION：彼らはそれ天使/ CHAPTER THREE /ジョシュアA. TRILIEGIによる新連載小説の市コール
彼らは天使の街コール ジョシュアA. TRILIEGIによる新連載小説 排他的に芸術や文化とのBUREAUの読者のために 、ロサンゼルス、サンフランシスコ、ニューヨーク市で私たちの3つのサイトは、 すべての国立＆インターナショナルのコピーは著作権を著者に予約 章三：ジョージー ジョージーは芸術家でした。彼らはすぐに気づいた。時間によって 、彼女は3歳で、彼女は曲を歌うことができます。彼女は9歳の頃には、彼女は どんなダンスの動きを模倣することができます。彼女は12歳の頃には、彼女は どんな大人とスクラッチになりました現実的な絵を描くことができます。 今日ジョシーの誕生日です。彼女の部屋は、十代のビートポスターで覆われている。 バブルヤムチューインガムのパックは、ドレッサーに。の写真 、公園で、ビーチで、学校で賞リボンだ彼女のガールフレンド 、推薦状美術、ダンスと歌のコンテストから 、テニスシューズのペア地元の大学で美術の先生から 彼女の隅に、そしてもちろんで満たされたスケッチブックの数十人 の友人の古典的な肖像画、彼女は観察し、人、物、場所 、彼女の両親は早い1960年代に移住していた、彼らが与えた 彼女のアメリカ人の名前を、物事が彼女のために十分に懸命になるつもりだった 、それがあったように、彼らが考え出し、彼女はここで生まれ、彼女は最初のアメリカの 私たちの家族の中で、流れに行くことができます。彼女のお父さんは地元の工場で働いていた、 彼女のお母さんは旧世界のスタイルの主婦だった彼女は縫い付け、調理、 gardenedや本を保った。ジョシーは、それがに来たときに大きく開いていた 議論の友人、学校、夢と未来が、ときに、それがカム 彼女のボーイフレンドは、彼女はこれまでに魂を言わなかった。ではない彼女の両親ではなく、彼女の 恋人、誰。だから、彼女は少数だった出会い系ルイ、始めたとき 、誰も知らなかったので、歳年上の、誰も、心配することは何もありませんでした。 彼が持っていた保護品質をいくつかの人は、彼女は周りの安全に感じたことを 彼に。彼は、彼女の才能にノックアウトさえのための彼女のデザインのタトゥーあった 彼と彼の友人を。それは愛のタブーソート、できなかったようなものだった 夏よりも長く続くと、それはしませんでした。ルイは、最終的に付き合い始め 、彼の年齢とジョージーは自分の学校やから子供と一緒にはね返っ女の子 近所。しかし、深いダウン内部、彼女はまだルイのために愛を持っていたし、 彼はそれを知らなかったにもかかわらず、彼はあまりにも彼女との愛にまだあった。 時間冬で一緒に来て、彼らは、厄介で自分自身を発見した ものを見るために持っていることの状況ときどきの会社の別の、 お互いの新しい遊び。最初はこれは簡単、笑顔、波、見え こんにちはシンプルまたはどのように屋がやって？しかし、これらの瞬間の後、ルイが見つかり 、時には怒り、混乱、自身が問題を抱えた。彼は誰が知りませんでした 彼はジョージー、新しいボーイフレンドや自分自身、と怒っていた、彼はただ知っていた 何かが正確に定住していなかった、それは本当に彼を混乱 ときどき彼は眠ることができなかった点。だから、彼は彼女を呼び出すために始めた だけで挨拶すると、ジョージーの新しいボーイフレンドはこの言葉を持って、反応 に応じて。一つは、別のものに導き、今男の子が話していた 対決について。すぐに広がるような、言葉が出てきた、 学校でダンスの後、彼らは満たすために行くとこの事を決済された。 彼女が見つけたときにびびるジョージーは、罪悪感、責任を感じていなかった 、これは一部であったので、教えて誰も彼女の人生の彼女は常に保たれていた 自分自身に。だから圧力はダンスの夜までに取り付け。で 最初のジョージーは、彼女がつもりではなかったと述べ、その後、彼女は彼女の心を変えたと言われ 、彼女は友達と一緒に行っていたことを、彼女の新しいボーイフレンドがライアンを、彼らは可能性があり 、これは圧力を拡散させるであろうし、それまでに期待して、ダンスの後に話す 彼女は避けることに役立つ可能性が実際の戦い。しかし、物事は唯一行きの方法は、 状況を悪化させ。代わりに拳を回避全体戦う イベントを ロサンゼルスの大通りを通ってドラッグレースになりましたとで 夜の終わり車は鉄道にわたって空中に跳ね上げ たトラック。 ジョシーのお父さんが彼女の寝室のドアをノックし、誰も答えない。彼は呼ばれる 彼女のガールフレンドの両親は誰も何が起こったのか知りませんでした。結局、彼らは持って 説明し、県警察の警察官のチャックから呼び出し ていること があったひどい事故に遭ったと、彼らはお願いしに降りてくる可能性 ソート何かを助けるために港湾病院。彼らはおよそ不明だった 人の身元や検証を必要としていた。ジョシーの両親はいつ 手にクリップボード、チャックが廊下に立っていた、到着しました、これがあった 彼の仕事の中で最も難しい部分。彼はタフな男、扱うことができる スマートアレックを公開、チームで他の警官が、彼 は保持することができませんでし 彼の それは我々があなたの子供が死んだと思っている両親を伝えるに来たときに水を。 Josiesの両親がよく明るい部屋に導かれた、二人の遺体は、敷設された 上で 、それぞれをカバーするシートをアルミストレッチャー。体はされていた 洗浄 すべて血が、すべてについて行うことができる何もなかった 破れや マングルされた肉が。ジョージーは、シートの1の下にあった、ライアンは下にあった 他の。 それは彼らの両親は今まで会うのは初めてだった。結局彼らは あろう 法廷で再会し、再びarraignmentsで、再びルイの時に 刑務所から解放。今日ジョシーの誕生日であり、彼女が死亡しなかった場合 に戻って 1976年、彼女は30歳であったであろう。彼女のお父さんは、 閉じた 、彼はそれが、彼 女が死んだ日だったのとまったく同じように保たれて、寝室のドアを 彼の目を拭い、誰かがこのために支払うつもりだったことを、自分自身を約束した 痛み。それまでに、彼は彼の妻を失ったと思いますし、今では、彼が失い始めた心がある。 MAIN SITE：www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.comの問い合わせ先：JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET LA：www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com BAY AREA：www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF 。blogspot.com NEW YORK：www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.comジョシュアアーロンTRILIEGI 1282 W.サンBdのロサンゼルス 直接アメリカカリフォルニア90026電話：213 975 0067
Monday, August 26, 2013
NEW FICTION : They Call it The City of Angels / CHAPTER TWO / A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
They Call it The City of Angels
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Printed here in English , Italian and French choose your chosen
language by utilizing the Language button to the left
Chapter Two: Mickey
"Look left, then right, then left again." What the hell is so difficult
about that ? Mickey muttered out loud to some mindless quack as
he skidded around the car and cranked his wrist an eighth of an inch,
which meant he was now riding from a basic twenty-five miles per
hour to the preferred forty-five along the coast of Malibu and on
into Venice beach where he kept a shop that tended strictly to Harley-
Davidson's. Mickey was a third generation biker, his Dad had known
some pretty serious guys back in the day. His grandfather had driven
a Harley from Washington State clear down to Southern California
back in the nineteen forties before going off to war, with the rest of
his generation. Back when Mickey was a kid, bikers were hated and
or feared by the general populist. Now, everybody and their grandma
wants to claim some piece of this heritage. His old man fixed bikes for
some of the well known biker gangs throughout California, but he never
actually signed up, if you know what I mean. What they call a civilian.
When his old man left town for a month, which turned into a decade,
Mickey finally took a crow bar to the lock on the old man's wood shed,
found his tools and started a business of his own. It wasn't one of
those places with a big neon sign or anything like that, he just fixed bikes
for guys in the neighborhood and eventually had a couple dozen regulars
and that was it. He had been offered partnerships before by local shops,
investors, squares with enough money to set him up well, but simply
didn't want the hassle. " As soon as you take their money, they own
you." That was his usual reply, but lately he'd gotten tired of the bullshit.
Guys not paying what they owed, insurance companies not releasing
the funds on time, just cause they knew he was an unofficial Harley
repairman, as opposed to the guys with the big signs out front. Part
of him rejected the whole idea of middle America embracing the Harley
phenomenon. The other part of him knew it was good for business and
just might bring the company back into a thriving system, where bikers
could get some respect again. So, when a local rich kid offered him
10,000 dollars to expand the shop, he took it. Reluctantly, accepted a
chance to buy some new tools, get bonded, insured, even had the
business officially certified with a doing business as 'Mickey's
Motorcycles' license.
Some people said Mickey's old man had gone to Mexico, others figured
he got caught up in some kind of deal gone awry. There was talk that he
was overseas, Amsterdam maybe. No one knew for sure. He had stopped
thinking about it a few years back. Mickey made the house payments, took
care of his grandmother and tolerated his Mothers new boyfriends as best
he could. So much had changed since they were kids, growing up in Venice
beach. Back then it was mostly poor folks, now the place was turning
into something else: well known actors, architects, airline pilots. It was a
good thing his old man bought the place otherwise Mickey and his girlfriend,
Moon, would have been out of that neighborhood years ago. They lived a
block and a half away from Dennis Hopper's house & when Hopper bought
a Harley, Mickey was the guy he brought it to. Who didn't want to hang
out with Dennis Hopper? Mickey had creds on the street and in the hills,
which was kind of rare. He had clients up and down the coast and didn't
mind much making house calls, even if it took a couple days. He'd crash
out on the couch or garage or guest house until the job was done. Most
guys liked his company and liked to hear him wax poetic about the early
days of Rock and Roll, his mom had been the manager of several bands
up in the bay area and he knew just about everyone from Jerry Garcia's
to The Moby Grape's. People would say that Mickey was made from a
kind of American counter culture royalty. But, he shunned all that talk.
One of those quiet throw backs, except when it came to Moon, his only
truly admittedly obsessive relationship. Whatever she wanted, she got.
Moon was his first and only love. Once they had broken up for a day and
a half during high school graduation. A Friday night and all of
Saturday,
by Sunday morning, they were back together and never looked back.
As he pulled into the driveway, he glanced over to find his mother's new
boyfriend's red convertible, the passenger side windshield was riddled
with what looked like bullet holes, upon closer inspection, he realized the
holes were made with stiletto heels kicked from the inside out. "Here we go."
he thought, as he turned off the bike and figured, o.k. this generator is
fixed. He knew there was something brewing, so he quietly strolled past
the front house and headed straight for Pop's shed. Always a safe refuge.
But there in the back yard was the boyfriend wearing nothing more than
a pair of Ray-Bans and in a see through nighty, his Mom attending the
barbeque. " For christ sake Mag, what if Calley walks back here ?"
who momentarily turns in his direction, " Oh Mick, grow up will ya ? "
She had been telling him that since the time he was ten years old :
"Your not a kid anymore mick, your ten years old now, grow up."
He did. Got back on the bike, which he hadn't planned on returning
to his client till tomorrow, ripped up Pacific Coast Highway and on
into Zuma Beach, collected his fee and instead of getting a ride from
Jay, simply hopped on the Bus and called it a day. That's when he
noticed a beach comber who sure looked a lot like his dad. "That's
impossible. Must be going nuts. I gotta get out of here." He did.
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Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
A New Serial Novel by Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Exclusively for Readers of BUREAU of ARTS and CULTURE and
our Three sites in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York City
All National & International Copy Rights Reserved to the Author
Printed here in English , Italian and French choose your chosen
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Chapter Two: Mickey
"Look left, then right, then left again." What the hell is so difficult
about that ? Mickey muttered out loud to some mindless quack as
he skidded around the car and cranked his wrist an eighth of an inch,
which meant he was now riding from a basic twenty-five miles per
hour to the preferred forty-five along the coast of Malibu and on
into Venice beach where he kept a shop that tended strictly to Harley-
Davidson's. Mickey was a third generation biker, his Dad had known
some pretty serious guys back in the day. His grandfather had driven
a Harley from Washington State clear down to Southern California
back in the nineteen forties before going off to war, with the rest of
his generation. Back when Mickey was a kid, bikers were hated and
or feared by the general populist. Now, everybody and their grandma
wants to claim some piece of this heritage. His old man fixed bikes for
some of the well known biker gangs throughout California, but he never
actually signed up, if you know what I mean. What they call a civilian.
When his old man left town for a month, which turned into a decade,
Mickey finally took a crow bar to the lock on the old man's wood shed,
found his tools and started a business of his own. It wasn't one of
those places with a big neon sign or anything like that, he just fixed bikes
for guys in the neighborhood and eventually had a couple dozen regulars
and that was it. He had been offered partnerships before by local shops,
investors, squares with enough money to set him up well, but simply
didn't want the hassle. " As soon as you take their money, they own
you." That was his usual reply, but lately he'd gotten tired of the bullshit.
Guys not paying what they owed, insurance companies not releasing
the funds on time, just cause they knew he was an unofficial Harley
repairman, as opposed to the guys with the big signs out front. Part
of him rejected the whole idea of middle America embracing the Harley
phenomenon. The other part of him knew it was good for business and
just might bring the company back into a thriving system, where bikers
could get some respect again. So, when a local rich kid offered him
10,000 dollars to expand the shop, he took it. Reluctantly, accepted a
chance to buy some new tools, get bonded, insured, even had the
business officially certified with a doing business as 'Mickey's
Motorcycles' license.
Some people said Mickey's old man had gone to Mexico, others figured
he got caught up in some kind of deal gone awry. There was talk that he
was overseas, Amsterdam maybe. No one knew for sure. He had stopped
thinking about it a few years back. Mickey made the house payments, took
care of his grandmother and tolerated his Mothers new boyfriends as best
he could. So much had changed since they were kids, growing up in Venice
beach. Back then it was mostly poor folks, now the place was turning
into something else: well known actors, architects, airline pilots. It was a
good thing his old man bought the place otherwise Mickey and his girlfriend,
Moon, would have been out of that neighborhood years ago. They lived a
block and a half away from Dennis Hopper's house & when Hopper bought
a Harley, Mickey was the guy he brought it to. Who didn't want to hang
out with Dennis Hopper? Mickey had creds on the street and in the hills,
which was kind of rare. He had clients up and down the coast and didn't
mind much making house calls, even if it took a couple days. He'd crash
out on the couch or garage or guest house until the job was done. Most
guys liked his company and liked to hear him wax poetic about the early
days of Rock and Roll, his mom had been the manager of several bands
up in the bay area and he knew just about everyone from Jerry Garcia's
to The Moby Grape's. People would say that Mickey was made from a
kind of American counter culture royalty. But, he shunned all that talk.
One of those quiet throw backs, except when it came to Moon, his only
truly admittedly obsessive relationship. Whatever she wanted, she got.
Moon was his first and only love. Once they had broken up for a day and
a half during high school graduation. A Friday night and all of
Saturday,
by Sunday morning, they were back together and never looked back.
As he pulled into the driveway, he glanced over to find his mother's new
boyfriend's red convertible, the passenger side windshield was riddled
with what looked like bullet holes, upon closer inspection, he realized the
holes were made with stiletto heels kicked from the inside out. "Here we go."
he thought, as he turned off the bike and figured, o.k. this generator is
fixed. He knew there was something brewing, so he quietly strolled past
the front house and headed straight for Pop's shed. Always a safe refuge.
But there in the back yard was the boyfriend wearing nothing more than
a pair of Ray-Bans and in a see through nighty, his Mom attending the
barbeque. " For christ sake Mag, what if Calley walks back here ?"
who momentarily turns in his direction, " Oh Mick, grow up will ya ? "
She had been telling him that since the time he was ten years old :
"Your not a kid anymore mick, your ten years old now, grow up."
He did. Got back on the bike, which he hadn't planned on returning
to his client till tomorrow, ripped up Pacific Coast Highway and on
into Zuma Beach, collected his fee and instead of getting a ride from
Jay, simply hopped on the Bus and called it a day. That's when he
noticed a beach comber who sure looked a lot like his dad. "That's
impossible. Must be going nuts. I gotta get out of here." He did.
MAIN SITE : www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com
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Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles
California USA 90026 Phone Direct : 213 975 0067
NUOVA FICTION: La chiamano la città degli angeli / Capitolo secondo / un nuovo romanzo seriale da Joshua A. TRILIEGI
La chiamano la città degli angeli un nuovo romanzo seriale da Joshua A. TRILIEGI In esclusiva per i lettori di BUREAU di arte e cultura e le nostre tre sedi a Los Angeles, San Francisco e New York Tutti i nazionali ed internazionali Copiare i diritti riservati all'Autore Capitolo Due: Mickey "guardare a sinistra, poi a destra, poi ancora a sinistra." Che diavolo è così difficile in questo? Mickey borbottò ad alta voce a qualche ciarlatano senza cervello come lui scivolò intorno alla macchina e gomito al polso un ottavo di un pollice, il che significava che era ormai in sella da una base 25 miglia per ora per il preferito quarantacinque lungo la costa di Malibu e in spiaggia di Venezia dove teneva un negozio che tendeva rigorosamente Harley- Davidson. Topolino era un motociclista di terza generazione, il suo papà aveva conosciuto alcuni ragazzi piuttosto grave indietro nel giorno. Suo nonno aveva guidato una Harley da Washington State cancellare fino a sud della California negli anni Quaranta diciannove prima di andare in guerra, con il resto della sua generazione. Ai tempi in cui Mickey era un ragazzino, i motociclisti erano odiati e temuti o dal populista generale. Ora, tutti e la loro nonna vuole rivendicare qualche pezzo di questo patrimonio. Il suo vecchio fissato moto per alcune delle bande di motociclisti ben noti in tutta la California, ma non ha mai effettivamente firmato, se sai cosa voglio dire. Quello che chiamano un civile. Quando il suo vecchio uomo ha lasciato la città per un mese, che si trasformò in un decennio, Mickey finalmente preso una barra di corvo per la serratura sul legno del vecchio capannone, ha trovato i suoi attrezzi e ha iniziato un business di suo. Non era uno di quei luoghi con una grande insegna al neon o qualcosa di simile, ha solo le biciclette fisse per ragazzi del quartiere e alla fine ha avuto un paio di dozzine di clienti abituali e che è stato. Gli era stato offerto prima partnership con negozi locali, investitori, piazze con abbastanza soldi per metterlo su bene, ma semplicemente non voleva la seccatura. "Non appena si prende i loro soldi, che proprio tu. " Quella era la sua solita risposta, ma ultimamente si era stancato di stronzate. Ragazzi non pagare quello che dovevano, le compagnie di assicurazione non rilasciando i fondi in tempo, solo perché loro sapevano che era un ufficiale Harley riparatore, a differenza dei ragazzi con i grandi segni davanti. Parte di lui ha respinto l'idea di America media abbracciando la Harley fenomeno. L'altra parte di lui sapeva che era buono per gli affari e solo potrebbe riportare la società in un sistema fiorente, dove i ciclisti potevano ottenere di nuovo un po 'di rispetto. Così, quando un ragazzo ricco locale gli ha offerto 10.000 dollari per espandere il negozio, l'ha presa. Con riluttanza, accettò una possibilità di acquistare alcuni nuovi strumenti, ottenere legato, assicurato, aveva anche il business certificate ufficialmente con un business facendo come 'Moto di Topolino' licenza. Qualcuno ha detto vecchio di Topolino era andato in Messico, altri figurato egli ha catturato fino in una sorta di affare andato storto. Si parlava che lui era all'estero, Amsterdam forse. Nessuno sapeva con certezza. Aveva smesso di pensarci qualche anno fa. Mickey ha fatto i pagamenti casa, ha preso cura di sua nonna e tollerata sue Madri nuovi fidanzati come meglio poteva. Tanto era cambiato da quando erano bambini, crescendo a Venezia spiaggia. Allora era per lo più povera gente, ora il posto si stava trasformando in qualcosa di diverso: attori famosi, architetti, piloti di linea. E 'stata una buona cosa che il suo vecchio uomo ha acquistato il posto altrimenti Mickey e la sua ragazza, Luna, sarebbe stato fuori di quegli anni di quartiere fa. Hanno vissuto un isolato e mezzo di distanza da Dennis Hopper casa e quando Hopper comprò una Harley, Mickey era il ragazzo lo ha portato a. Chi non ha voluto appendere fuori con Dennis Hopper? Mickey aveva creds in strada e sulle colline, che era una specie di raro. Aveva clienti su e giù per la costa e non importava molto di effettuare le chiamate di casa, anche se ci sono voluti un paio di giorni. Aveva crashare sul divano o garage o pensione fino a quando il lavoro è stato fatto. La maggior parte dei ragazzi hanno apprezzato la sua compagnia e gli piaceva sentirlo cera poetico sui primi giorni del Rock and Roll, la sua mamma era stato il direttore di diverse band fino nella zona della baia e sapeva quasi tutti da Jerry Garcia a La Moby Grape di. La gente diceva che Mickey è stato fatto da una sorta di American contatore cultura regalità. Ma, ha evitato tutto quel discorso. Una di quelle tranquille spalle tiro, tranne quando si trattava di Luna, il suo unico vero dichiaratamente rapporto ossessivo. Tutto quello che voleva, ha ottenuto. luna era il suo primo e unico amore. Una volta avevano rotto per un giorno e mezzo durante il diploma di scuola superiore. Una notte di Venerdì e tutti Sabato, da Domenica mattina, erano di nuovo insieme e mai guardato indietro. Come egli entrò nel vialetto, egli lanciò un'occhiata per trovare nuove di sua madre decappottabile rossa del fidanzato, il parabrezza lato passeggero è stato crivellato con quello che sembrava fori di proiettile, un esame più approfondito, si rese conto della fori sono stati realizzati con i tacchi a spillo a calci da dentro e fuori. "Ci siamo." pensò, mentre si spegne la moto e pensato, ok questo generatore è fissato. Sapeva che c'era qualcosa di birra, così ha tranquillamente passeggiato passato la casa di fronte e si diresse dritto per capannone di Pop. Sempre un sicuro rifugio. Ma nel cortile sul retro era il ragazzo indossava nulla di più di un paio di Ray-Ban e in un vedere attraverso la camicia da notte, la sua mamma frequentando il barbeque. "? Per Cristo amor Mag, che cosa se Calley cammina di nuovo qui" "Oh Mick, crescere sarà ya" che diventa momentaneamente nella sua direzione, lei gli aveva detto che da quando aveva dieci anni: "Il tuo non è un ragazzo più mick, le vostre dieci anni ormai, crescono. " Ha fatto. Tornati sulla moto, che non aveva programmato di tornare al suo cliente fino a domani, strappato Pacific Coast Highway e in Zuma Beach, raccolto il suo canone e invece di ottenere un giro da Jay, semplicemente saltato sul bus e chiamato un giorno. Fu allora che notò una pettinatrice spiaggia che sicuro che sembrava un po 'come il suo papà. "Questo è impossibile. devo andare noci. Devo uscire di qui. " Ha fatto.
MAIN SITE: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com CONTATTO: JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET LA: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com BAY AREA: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com NEW YORK: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Boulevard di Los Angeles, California 90026 Telefono diretto: 213 975 0067
Liens vers ce message
MAIN SITE: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com CONTATTO: JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET LA: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com BAY AREA: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com NEW YORK: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Boulevard di Los Angeles, California 90026 Telefono diretto: 213 975 0067
Liens vers ce messageNEW FICTION: Ils l'appellent la Cité des Anges / Chapter Two / un nouveau roman de série par Joshua A. TRILIEGI
Ils l'appellent la Cité des Anges un nouveau roman de série par Joshua A. TRILIEGI exclusivité pour les lecteurs du bureau des arts et de la culture et nos trois sites à Los Angeles, San Francisco et New York City Tous nationaux et internationaux relatifs aux droits de copie est réservée à l'auteur du chapitre Deux: Mickey "regarder à gauche, puis à droite, puis encore à gauche." Qu'est-ce qui est si difficile à ce sujet? Mickey murmura à voix haute certains charlatan stupide comme il dérapa autour de la voiture et coudés son poignet un huitième de pouce, ce qui signifiait qu'il était désormais à cheval à partir de vingt-cinq de base miles par heure à la pratique de quarante-cinq le long de la côte de Malibu et dans la plage de Venise où il tenait une boutique qui tendait strictement à Harley- Davidson. Mickey avait un troisième motard génération, son père avait connu des gars assez sérieux retour dans la journée. Son grand-père avait conduit une Harley de l'État de Washington effacer jusqu'au sud de la Californie dans les années quarante dix-neuf avant d'aller à la guerre, avec le reste de sa génération. À l'époque où Mickey était un enfant, les motards étaient haïs et craints ou par le populiste général. Maintenant, tout le monde et leur grand-mère veut demander un morceau de ce patrimoine. Son vieil homme fixe des vélos pour certains gangs de motards bien connus à travers la Californie, mais il n'a jamais réellement signé, si vous voyez ce que je veux dire. Ce qu'ils appellent un civil. Lorsque son vieil homme a quitté la ville pendant un mois, qui s'est transformée en une décennie, Mickey a finalement pris un pied de biche à la serrure de verser le bois du vieil homme, a trouvé ses outils et a commencé une entreprise de la sienne. Il n'était pas un de ces endroits avec une grande enseigne au néon ou quelque chose comme ça, il vient de vélos fixes pour les gars dans le quartier et a finalement dû quelques dizaines habitués et c'est tout. On lui avait offert des partenariats avant de boutiques locales, des investisseurs, des places avec assez d'argent pour lui mettre en place bien, mais tout simplement ne veulent pas les tracas. «Dès que vous prenez leur argent, ils possèdent toi. " C'était sa réponse habituelle, mais dernièrement, il avait eu assez de conneries. Guys ne pas payer ce qu'ils devaient, les compagnies d'assurance ne libérant les fonds à temps, juste parce qu'ils savaient qu'il était un officieux Harley réparateur, contrairement aux gars avec les grands panneaux à l'avant. Une partie de lui rejeté l'idée de l'Amérique moyenne embrasser la Harley phénomène. L'autre partie de lui savait que c'était bon pour les affaires et pourrait bien ramener l'entreprise dans un système en plein essor, où les motards pourraient obtenir à nouveau un peu de respect. Donc, quand un gosse de riche locale lui a offert 10.000 dollars pour agrandir l'atelier, il l'a pris. À contrecœur, accepté une chance d'acheter de nouveaux outils, de se coller, assuré, même a l'entreprise officiellement certifié par une entreprise faisant comme «Les motos de Mickey ' licence. Certaines personnes ont dit vieil homme de Mickey était allé au Mexique, d'autres ont figuré il s'est rattrapé dans une sorte de deal qui a mal tourné. Il était question qu'il était à l'étranger, peut-être Amsterdam. Personne ne savait avec certitude. Il avait cessé de penser il ya quelques années. Mickey a fait les paiements de la maison, a pris soin de sa grand-mère et toléré ses Mères de nouveaux copains du mieux qu'il le pouvait. Tant de choses avaient changé depuis qu'ils étaient enfants, grandir à Venise plage. À l'époque, il s'agissait surtout de pauvres gens, maintenant le lieu devenait en quelque chose d'autre: des acteurs bien connus, les architectes, les pilotes de ligne. C'était une bonne chose que son vieil homme a acheté le lieu autrement Mickey et son amie, Lune, aurait été hors de ce quartier il ya des années. Ils ont vécu un bloc et demi loin de la maison de Dennis Hopper et quand Hopper acheté une Harley, Mickey était le gars qu'il a apporté à. Qui ne veut pas traîner avec Dennis Hopper? Mickey avait creds dans la rue et dans les collines, qui était une sorte de rare. Il avait des clients de haut en bas de la côte et n'a pas l'esprit trop ce qui fait des visites à domicile, même s'il a fallu quelques jours. Il avait s'écraser sur le canapé ou dans le garage ou maison d'hôtes jusqu'à ce que le travail était terminé. La plupart des gars ont apprécié sa compagnie et aimaient l'entendre cire poétique sur les premiers jours du Rock and Roll, sa mère avait été le gestionnaire de plusieurs bandes dans la région de la baie et il savait à peu près tout le monde de Jerry Garcia à La Moby Grape. Les gens disaient que Mickey a été faite à partir d'une sorte de redevance de la contre-culture américaine. Mais, il fuyait tout ce qui parle. L'un de ces calmes dos de lancers, sauf quand il s'agissait de lune, son seul véritable relation certes obsessionnel. Tout ce qu'elle voulait, elle a obtenu. Lune était son premier et unique amour. Une fois qu'ils avaient rompu pendant un jour et demi au cours de l'obtention du diplôme d'études secondaires. Un vendredi soir et tout le samedi le dimanche matin, ils étaient de retour ensemble et n'ont jamais regardé en arrière. Comme il a tiré dans l'allée, il regarda par-dessus pour trouver de nouvelles de sa mère décapotable rouge de copain, le pare-brise du côté passager a été criblée avec ce qui ressemblait à trous de balles, après inspection, il a réalisé les trous ont été faits avec des talons aiguilles coups de pied de l'intérieur. "Ici nous allons." pensait-il, comme il a éteint la moto et figuré, ok ce générateur est fixé. Il savait qu'il y avait quelque chose de brassage, de sorte qu'il se promenait tranquillement passé la maison avant et se dirigea directement vers la cabane du Pop. Toujours un coffre-fort refuge. Mais il ya dans la cour arrière a été le petit ami ne portant rien de plus que d'une paire de Ray-Ban et dans un voir par chemise de nuit, sa maman assister au barbecue. »? Pour l'amour du Christ Mag, si Calley marche arrière ici" "Oh Mick, va grandir ya" qui devient momentanément dans sa direction, elle lui avait été dit que depuis qu'il a dix ans: «vous n'êtes pas un gamin mick, vos dix ans maintenant, grandissent. " Il l'a fait. Nous revenons sur le vélo, ce qu'il n'avait pas prévu de retourner à son client jusqu'à demain, déchiré Pacific Coast Highway et à Zuma Beach, recueilli ses frais et au lieu de faire un tour de Jay, tout simplement sauté dans le bus et a appelé un jour. C'est alors qu'il remarqua une déferlante de plage qui vous ressemblait beaucoup à son père. «C'est impossible. doit aller noix. Je dois sortir d'ici. " Il l'a fait.
site principal: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com CONTACT: JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET LA: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com BAY AREA: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com NEW YORK: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles Californie USA 90026 Téléphone direct: 213 975 0067
site principal: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURE.com CONTACT: JOHNNYMILWAUKEE@EARTHLINK.NET LA: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURELosAngeles.blogspot.com BAY AREA: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURESF.blogspot.com NEW YORK: www.BUREAUofARTSandCULTURENY.blogspot.com Joshua Aaron TRILIEGI 1282 W. Sunset Bd Los Angeles Californie USA 90026 Téléphone direct: 213 975 0067
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