I wrapped the shotgun in a blanket and put it in the trunk before driving through West Hollywood into Beverly Hills with the spring sun blazing. I had to see some guys but instead maneuvered through gridlock traffic to a coffee shop off Santa Monica Boulevard where hipsters brunched and rich folk avoided the homeless. She sat at a table near the front window. I kissed her on the cheek and sat, regretting I didn’t have time for coffee.
I just came to say hi, I said.
She smiled and time stopped for a few minutes. I forgot about everything else, only absorbing half of what she said, spellbound, entranced.
I have to go, I said.
She stood to hug me and I kissed her neck, inhaling her.
Back in the devastating noontime light I steered the rented sedan toward West LA and contemplated how the room full of thieves would react when out come that shotgun.
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