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2002-06-01 || 12:35 p.m. || the star on the map with your face on it. || julie and her husband bought a house in san pedro. when i called they had paint in their hair, paint tucked away in their sandwiches. they point at the tuft of grass that is pushing up in a crack of cement and nod and say, conspiratorially, 'we own that.' i am going to drive to los angeles this month. i am going to park my car mere feet from their house and touch the front door and they will say, conspiratorially, 'we own this.' julie says it is an old house, added to and added to to keep up with what year it is. the outhouse in the back was abandoned for a boxy bathroom with gleaming fixtures. the closet sits atop three square feet that once accomodated a rose bush. julie says there is a secret passageway, developed accidentally from all the upgrading, and i want her to emerge from it in an evening gown, all sequins and drunksmiles, to wave her hands and offer hors doevres and remind us that the rotting floor boards and crickety foundation belongs exclusively to her. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |