It’s 12:30 a.m. and I’m sitting alone at the Hollywood and Vine subway station. My train is scheduled to arrive at 12:36 a.m. No one else is around, aside from one back guy who looks like a dancer and a Hispanic couple, wasted, singing songs to one another. It’s bright and clean down here.

I recently realized that what I hate most about Hollywood is driving out here on the weekends. Parking, if you can find it, is expensive and unreliable. Now I’ve learned that parking my car at Universal Studios and taking the subway over, or rather, under the hill is effortless and takes away all of the frustration maneuvering around Hollywood seems to inevitably bring. The only downfall is that I have to take off early to catch the last train which comes in approximately three minutes from now. I’ll probably end up driving over to my old neighbors’ place and smoking pot for a few hours before hopefully hearing from Philippe and spending the night between his warm black sheets and equally warm arms. I sleep quite well next to him, which is surprising considering his extreme snoring issues.

I blew off two dates last week. Dates that could have, and likely would have, paid but for some reason I just couldn’t go through with it. I choked both times, minutes before I was supposed to meet them. My gut just didn’t feel right about it or something. Maybe that was it. Maybe not. 

Well now it’s 12:39 and the train is three minutes late. Los Angeles does not know the first thing about public transportation. Is this train ever coming? Has something horrible happened? Have they simply decided not to run the last train tonight? A group of people have now gathered. We are all wondering how long to wait… I can tell. I’m strangely comfortable here. It’s peaceful and I’m waiting out my buzz. The only down side is that I have no idea how I’m getting home. Every minute I wait here takes from the time I could be searching for a cab. I’ve been waiting for over twenty minutes. What should I do? I suppose I’ll just wait for the people around me to give up. Like I said, I’m comfortable here. All…

The train just came. I screamed “thank god” toward the black guy sitting next to me. He half smiled as he awoke from the strange state he was in. I couldn’t help but notice how he held his head in his hands and strained his face in a way that made it look as though he was crying. I can’t be certain though. I saw no tears fall.

Almost back to my car. Almost back to Universal Studios which is exactly three blocks from my house. It’s also about five freeway exits from my old block where all my old neighbor boys live. Man I love hanging out with those guys. I’d prefer to think about them rather than think about the fact that I canceled those two dates. So often I build my persona up to an unrealistic, impractical state. I’m resilient and strong and always appear to be cool. I’m good at that and I like that about myself, but underneath all the calm, cool and collected is a sensitive, loving gal. It’s a side I show to very few people. My vulnerable side, if you will.

I’m now sitting at the diner next to my place drinking a cub of decaf. I am well aware of just how lucky (or cursed) I am to have a 24 hour diner in my backyard. No matter what I’ve done or what time I come home, there is always somewhere for me to go if I’m not ready to go home just yet. I can stumble in here and chat with the staff and fellow patrons or maybe just sit and not talk at all and it’s all ok because this is my spot. My kitchen.

Why couldn’t I go through with it? I have three times so far. Each time was different. Each time was a new experience that I certainly learned from. I blew off a hedge fund man and a television producer and now instead of sex I’m sitting here alone, frantically typing away in my cell phone probably looking like a crazy person.

Oh wait… hold on. My bacon avocado burger just got here.