around me and even carries my bag. He’s grown a goatee since the last time I saw him, but otherwise looks just the same. He wears a black leather jacket over a black pullover sweater. We get into his BMW and drive off through the Los Angeles night. It is warm. L.A. is always so goddamn warm. We don’t talk much. He drives me home and tells me to sleep and asks if I want any food. I shake my head. “Can I see you tomorrow?” I ask. “Sure,” he says. “Maybe we can go to a meeting at noon.” “A meeting?” “Yeah, brother.” “Fuck.” “There’s no other way.” “Yeah,” I say. “I know.” And so I go upstairs
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