The Bells of St. Kahuna

There are fires in the hills.   The ultimate, plangent, VistaVision credit-crawl sky manipulated, perhaps, by radon gas from the La Brea tarpits.   A telephoto image was locked into her eyes so that she could see nothing else.   Cool, catatonic, a career enhancement.   Tentative release dates were discussed.

The sunny, ever-present techno-euphoria that links vacant lots with strip-malls, health clubs with mortuaries & automobile dealerships.   Real estate opportunities.

Palm trees held in the light that filters down from pastel mists of haze.   Waves washing up along the flat, ashtray sand, & we get a little shadow in there as the palm trees sway in a way I love I confess I love the palm trees murmuring above the traffic, above the bungalows of pink stucco where a million hopeless scenarios are enacted as the sun slants down into the rocking, chrome-plated sea & the bells of St. Kahuna.