Its different than this building, Hector said as I counted out the bills. What do you mean? He hesitated. Less quiet.
I moved to Los Angeles on a bright November day last year, landing at the Burbank airport almost to the minute when the Writers Guild went out on strike. I had come out West planning to set myself up in a secluded bungalow in the sleepy hills of Echo Park or Silverlake.
Politics splits along interesting lines here on the upper left side of the country. In the Oregon race for governor, four candidates are looking to knock off the incumbent, a middle-of–the-road technocrat (need I say Democrat?) named Ted Kulongoski.
A friend of mine hooked me up with Dr. Groovy. Id been plagued by a mild, but enduring fever and a persistent tingling feeling behind my left ear; the word encephalopathy was in the air that summer. Id just moved back to New York and my old doctor had developed a sudden attitude about overdue payments, so I was grateful for the referral.
I truly liked Victor, thought he was the real dealan edge character, for sure, but a seeker, which is a rare things these days. There were, however, increasingly unsettling aspects of living with him.
I got a gig as a writer on a kids TV show. A playwright friend of mine hooked me up. I had never done much of that kind of work, but I figured it would be a good way to make some quick money, without taking too much time away from my novel.