Word: rick
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Want some coke? asked a man at the door. The music pounded loudly out by the pool. Inside, a different record played soft rock. They sat on a fat leather couch across from a blonde woman who drank her champagne in gulps. What do we do now? asked Rick. We mingle, replied Sammy...
Sammy did not think about the city. Rick had his pictures but did not develop them. Streets melted into highways, and palm trees gasped in the night air. Sammy put down his drink. Let's go, he said to Rick...
...Sausalito they slept on a creaky fishing boat, waking at dawn. Is that why they call it golden? wondered Rick, staring off through a misty prism at the bridge. Two eggs and bacon, said Sammy to the waitress. They drove away from the high-way, on a wispy road through craggy moors. The road ascended, then dropped to beach level. Sammy felt sick. Is this it? he wondered, staring out the car window into the fog. Rick stopped the Dodge and they shuffled across the sand. All these beaches, muttered Rick. Sammy watched the ocean caress his feet, walking until...
...have to laugh a lot, said the guitarist as he picked at his C. Rick wished he would stop plucking. The house in Malibu needed paint and new walls. Tomorrow we'll go to Venice, said Sammy. That will make you laugh, said the guitarist. His string broke. I can't play the guitar anyway, he laughed...
...belly dancer at Venice yelled something to Rick. Don't I know you from somewhere? she asked. Sammy giggled. Rick talked to her about dancing. Rick did not dance. You have to try, said the dancer. You have to try everything. Sammy and Rick looked at each other. They looked down the boardwalk, past the electric skateboards, past the nude roller skaters and the Swede who juggled machetes. God, thought Sammy. He felt hungry so they bought cotton candy, chocolate chip cookies and papaya juice. On the beach, a bearded vendor offered a backrub to anyone who bought his bagels...