monologue

I don’t remember the last time I drove around LA at 3am. It’s the strangest time, 3am. By this time, bars are already closed and dry, dealers assume their customers have gotten high from someone else, radio stations are put on autopilot, re-airing what’s been said, sold, and played exactly 12 hours ago. Bakers are putting in one more hour of sleep- commuters, two, students, three, and so on and so forth- until the sun decides to rise just to put a pause on 3am, until 12 hours later, here I find myself, driving down the same street again.