Perris Lake

It is Baldheaded Chuck and me, The Med-Fly, and Pedal Sweeny.
Not like it isn’t enough that the girls (Ped, and The Med) had me earlier exit, and for grins, wobbled in unison through the front entrance of the Holiday Inn (the one off Magnolia) hiked their skirts, squatted, and pee’d on the lobby. Yes, in the middle of the whole works. Two dark spots in the Calico or whatever print of carpet and the front desk guy. And that was at like eleven. They get a little out-of-hand when they are running on fumes. They are all kind of fuzz. Like the carpet, worn and frayed in the high-traffic areas.
No…so now, were on the 10 headed downtown.
Really, I mean downtown. Like, Los Angeles downtown.
Crenshaw, and Adams downtown. And Pedal is toting a loaded .45. And Chuck keeps telling the girls he knows someone, everything gonna be fine. I am thinking how can anything possibly be ‘fine’ in L.A., I mean shit guys we have it pretty cozy, lets not get sideways here.
You see, Pedal and The Med-Fly are sisters, twins actually.
They work high-end gigs in San Bernardino, and Riverside.
I shuttle them about and keep them on the up. Things got a little gooey in Berdoo for a bit, so we worked on the whole diminishing returns scenario for a while. It fizzled and then some, and well, Bengal tigers. I don’t know how or why Baldheaded Chuck came on-line, but I don’t like it much.
I met the girls when I was trimming trees a couple years ago in Pasadena. They were returning from the Mount Baldy swap-meet with a trunk full of knick-knacks. I dropped a palm frond through the windshield of their crummy Celica.
And well…now L.A.


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