I avoid going back to Los Angeles. Been avoiding it for a while now.
Going back to LA feels like putting on your dirty clothes after you take a shower.
Returning to LA is like sleeping with an ex—Maybe you loved her at some point but you’ve moved on and don’t love her anymore. And hooking up with her makes you remember that.
I was supposed to go LA a few weeks ago.
But I didn’t.
I skipped it.
An older cousin died.
There was a funeral I should have attended. She was a favorite of the family, but I never really liked her.
I remember how she treated my mother and it’s never sat well.
The only time I saw my mother and cousin in a room together was when I was 12. My father way dying.
My mother took me to LA for one last visit. He was living in Westwood. In a high rise condo on Wilshire with some ex girlfriend who took him in at the end of his life.
The French have a word for a mistress that’s shared between two men. He had shared her with a legendary actor. I guess my mom was around then too.