Real Hollywood Gossip

On the right of me, a long-legged woman in a Pucci dress dances around. On the left, another tall blonde woman in a silk dress and fur coat. I dance to the music the Black Keys are DJ’ing on the back porch of a Victorian mansion turned nightclub on Hollywood Blvd.

I watch a dark mermaid haired girl spill her drink on her friends pant leg. A skinny white man snorts powder out of what looks like a bullet shell. He notices me watching, in my thrifted Christian Dior lacy dress and blazer, I politely acknowledge he’s human by smiling. He offers the bullet up, like he’s proposing marriage. I tell him, no thank you. I’m not interested in dying on Hollywood Blvd. Have a nice night.

A small joint is being passed by nameless, gorgeous woman behind the DJ tables, gyrating and dancing. Queer women, straight women, a few hot men, but mostly women.

Drugs still rule Hollywood. Sex still rules Hollywood.
I am currently sober and vaping like an old person, swaying against a dirty wall. I’m thinking about how nicotine is my drug, and how there is a lot of sex here.

I hear an overly zealous laugh and turn my gaze towards the turntables on the other side of the porch.

I see a man. I see another old man, like me, with his back against a dirty wall. He’s vaping, laughing and shazaming the music Patrick is playing. Everyone is looking at this old man with the large laugh.

It’s him, I think.
After thirty years of waiting to be in the same room at the same time, I’ve found him. It’s