Heinrik Hiramatsu;10:30am

last night was another tuesday night cafe. it was pretty good. i got to perform a piece with the old superstars. bryan sudan, miko agenda, dason orange fang, and jorge wong. again, can’t use real names. lawyers. millions. what not.

it was an interesting piece. dason is a maniac. in the very least i believe in his philosophy in, “an audience isn’t interested in safe Art.” and that’s what he pulled. he wrote a piece about these two people, a guy and a girl, who broke up a while back, but were in front of each other talking about it. and he chose bryan and miko to be those characters. and since this is dason, he put a train and a bird in the piece. i was the train and jorge was the bird. but it was quite interesting to see how bryan did it. he actually got emotional. and you know, bryan. it was amazing to be a part of. you should’ve heard the gasp that cmae out of jaycie’s mouth. fucking risk-taking art. i love it.

Art man. gotta love it.

there was this woman, japanese american, played the guitar, had a black matte guitar slung over her broad shoulders, skin like cloudy cream, whimsical eyes with mile long eyelashes she batted every chance she got, and her voice, oh my, her voice was as close to what songs sound like in heaven. she was beautiful. i want ot figure out how i can have HER babies.

the night was pretty good. i was feeling it. and i wasn’t even drunk. i was just feeling it. got a chance to put my life on hold for a sec and just be a part of some good ground level Art. it was a nice opportunity to enjoy the little things in life.

then i get a text from holly. good golly ms. holly. that holly. she wanted to walk around the rose bowl again. i said sure. i would do anything for that little bird. well, maybe not cut off my dick. did i just write that for shock value? or is my penis really more important than someone i love? hmmm…i wonder about that sometimes. not the actual comparison of love ones vs. my penis, but about why i write about my penis so much. anyway.

shot over to her house as quick as my toyota echo could fly over freeways, which isn’t very fast, but it’s good on gas, so score a point for this guy. she came out in her exercise outfit. sweats and a sweater, hair tied back in a ponytail, a few of her follicles uncooperative, cliff-hanging rebelliously over her forehead. and she was wearing her glasses. pink and black. jeebus christ.

it was another nice walk, another nice conversation. she’s doing good nowadays. the stresses of life that used to send her to oblivion are now sending her to work them out. she’s a smart one that one is. we have all these little inside jokes that are brought up playfully within the context of our millions of serious topic conversations.

there was a point in the conversation where we started talking about poker. she called me the donkey. and i joked that i was better than her. she remarked that i’ve never beaten her in a single hand. i told her i let her win. she said when. i said my birthday. she said whatever. i reminded her about the hand where she bullied everyone out with a big bet because she was low stack, i came in because i had the nuts on the river. it was just me and her. and she called. the turn came. i still had the nuts. and she went all in. i didn’t want her to leave the table. she was having so much fun that night. so i folded. she won the pot. and she never knew i did that for her. until i told her. but then, as she always does, she surprised me with what she said next. she said, how do you know you had the nuts? it could’ve been a split pot. ed, you didn’t know what was in my hand. and i thought about that as my old man knee was feeling like it was going to explode walking around rose bowl in night cold. i didn’t know what she had. she didn’t know what i had. and we never revealed our cards. we never played it to the end.

an analogy in more ways than one. and she agreed.

then i dropped her off at her house. it was around midnight. jorge, jaycie, bryan, and some other cafe people were still at weillands. holly had to get to bed because she has to wake up at 6 everyday this week. her hugs are still apprehensive, probably still worried about how my hug would react. maybe soon she won’t care anymore and hug me like she wants to. or maybe not. i actually don’t know. we haven’t shown our cards yet.

as she was walking away backwards, looking at me under the lamp post light, she said the obligatory, call me. then i said, you call me. she abruptly stopped. looked at me sardonically, whatever sardonic means, i just thought it was time to use some big word i remembered while reading dungeons and dragons novels, and said, i ALWAYS call you. i retorted, you never pick up when i call you. she said, the one time you called me? i was already asleep. and it was only one time you called! and i said, check your phone history. she rolled her eyes as she walked away.

i stood there at my car. waiting for her to get to the safety of the porch. i picked up my phone and dialed.

she answers, “what’s a matter?”

i said, “see? i call you.”

she said, “sheesh. good night, ed.”

“i said, “good night.”

drove to weillands, got fucking drunk with jorge, jaycie, and some random asses strewn about the bar on the corner of first and central in downtown LA. went home, wrote her a letter, and then fell asleep. i finally fell asleep.

cheers.