A break-up, two lost jobs and a bus ticket and there I was, Venice Beach, LA. I was lucky and on the first day I managed to get a waitress position at a café called "La Terraza" that was located on the beach. I started working right away, a café-grill-bar-restaurant like so many in Los Angeles; nothing much to say about that place. That night I slept in a ten-buck motel room and the next day I got a room in a -let's say decent- apart-hotel. People were constantly checking in and out but there were a few that lived there like me; with time I got to know some of them. There wasn't a real relationship with any, though, it was more of a friendly neighbors thing, or in some cases not even that. Of course, circumstances and backgrounds and all that will put people on your side and on the opposite side, and everywhere in between. So there was this guy, Bobby, who lived across the hall from me; he and I hit if off right away and became something like friends. He must have been twenty-eight or so; tall and wide-shouldered but he always looked a bit sick, as if he needed vitamins or something like that. Bobby worked at a pizza parlor and sometimes he'd bring me a slice or two, a calzone. We didn't have much in common except for our adoration of Alice Cooper and the fact that we both smoked Kools. Still, he was okay, and by that I mean there was nothing about him that I could point out as annoying or hateable. Well, nothing apart from the fact that he claimed to have feelings for Fay.
Fay lived on the third; she was something like a residual hippie mixed with a typical Hollywood bimbo. She was quite strange, Fay, but not in any way I could appreciate. She'd wear these hats that were more like bright-colored hair nets, and all kinds of flashy outfits that barely contained her huge boobs and always showed her navel. She was an idiot, that's what I thought about her; but still she managed to sneak in my masturbational fantasies from time to time. Those tits; oh the tits. She'd never wear a bra and she was rather perky; I calculated she was a D cup size but they were firm and confident. The rest of her was pretty good too: brunette, compact, little nose, cute latin smile. I was attracted, repulsed and jealous at the same time; and all that added to my despise towards her "kind" made Fay the perfect nemesis. She did amphets and other kinds of prescription pills and she was constantly in another world. I did coke and weed and thought she was an idiot for swallowing pills; amphets fuck you up in a more insidious and cruel way: first they mess the little processes of your mind, they make you something like a defective human being, shallow and undriven; and then one day you are so fucked that you can't really sit and think what the hell you are doing with your life, you don't even realize. With cocaine, I did realize, but I thought I was going to be able to give it up one day. Everyone thinks so, some actually make it. The short moments when I envied Fay, though, were those when I discovered I had no money left. Cocaine is expensive; but all you need to get a pill is a couple bucks and a prescription.

So three weeks went by, I was still getting used to the café and the hotel, learning the tricks and twists about that new social environment. One saturday morning, this guy moved in to the third, right in front of Fay. He drove an old Cougar and looked like a tough and slightly unbalanced guy, like Sean Penn in one of his ass-kicker roles. It was always evident when someone was moving in to stay for a good period. They all had that face, like saying "hey, it could have been worse"; that resignation. He had a couple of hand-bags and a bigger bag in the trunk, and that was it; i was almost convinced that was all he had left. Divorce? Debts? Jules, the fucking landlord, helped him take the big bag to his room; me and Bobby heard Jules talking to him, his mumbo-jumbo; and the guy would just say "Mhm" and "Yeah", or nothing at all. After a little more of those cutting answers Jules' became upset, his face became red and he stopped talking. Me and Bobby giggled quietly. Jules was one of those that can't dissimulate their mood at all, and it was very funny to see him upset. I liked the guy because of that. When he passed by us he looked at me, up and down, slowing down his walk. I looked at him without showing any emotions and noticed Bobby straightening like a rooster, typical macho shit. Then me and Bobby sat and talked about nothing important and smoked Kools before he had to go to work. I didn't work on saturdays and never knew what to do instead, so I had to improvise.
That day I sat outside and read Camus' The Stranger. I was in the funeral part, when the guy sits in front of her mother's coffin, smoking and drinking a coffee latte. I checked the page number and closed the book, then went upstairs to my room, put the book in my backpack, did two lines, grabbed money and the backpack and went out. I walked in a straight line to the beach and then wondered around, thinking a bit about my mother in a coffin, and a lot about lattes. Then I stepped in a coffee shop that was the main competition of "La Terraza". I ordered a sandwich and a latte but after a few sips of the latter I remember I didn't like milk. I took my time with the sandwich. The waitress came up to me and asked if I was the girl who works in the little place in front. Those California beach girls, you never know if they are flirting or being friendly or sardonic; any way I didn't like it. I looked at her with my poker face on, she had a pretty face but it was nothing especial. I took out a ten bill and gave it to her without talking. Her smile disappeared and it felt good. No tip for the bitch.

I started walking back to the hotel, thinking about smoking some weed and taking a nap. The coke had worn off and I was in a rather bad mood, everything was annoying me. The sea was calm, no clouds, no wind, nothing. Nothing nothing. It felt like a trap, like something staged. I thought about going through the streets instead of the beach, the streets were much more interesting, but that meant about twice the distance. I started spotting umbrellas and towels with no owner around, walking to them and checking for wallets. As stupid as it sounds, some people would still leave their wallets in their shoes or under the towel when going swimming; everyone thinks they are the exception until something happens. I would pass and kick the shoes with dissimulation, or step on the towel trying to feel something solid. After the fourth or fifth failed attempt I gave up. There were many couples all over, entering the ocean holding hands, tanning next to each other, eating and drinking. I couldn't stop looking at them, there was something mysterious about it. Something insane. Still, I felt this bitter envy, like when you are a kid and your friend got what you wanted for xmas. I thought about calling Jessica. Then I thought about Jessica sucking a dick. Jessica sucking a dick while being penetrated from behind by a man named Dick; Jessica wiping semen off her lips to answer the phone. Before breaking up (after I caught her with that asshole) she had told me that, even though she loved me and my pussy, she needed a man now and then. Maybe I needed a man too. Then I thought about Sean Penn with his handbags; ignoring Jules, checking me out.
What I needed was to stop thinking.

When I woke up the sun was setting. I masturbated and cleaned myself with the sheet. I put my clothes back on and went in the bathroom, washed my hands and my face and stepped out of my room. Mrs. Zandino was walking down the hall to her room, wearing a tight black party dress. Her husband had died a year before and she was supposed to be morning still; she wore black, always, she had even dyed her hair black; but still she'd go out on friday and saturday nights and come back wasted, sometimes with a man. She greeted me and I asked her about her plans. She'd always get a little embarrassed when she had to admit she was going out, and then she'd say something about Peter, her husband, something like "Oh, Peter didn't like going out at night. He was very reserved. God bless his soul". She asked me if I was going out, I told I didn't have anywhere to go. Then she stepped closer and gave me this look, and said in a whisper "You know, a man moved in today. He's handsome, I think". I faked a smile and she went in her room, humming something. I went down the stairs and out to the little garden. Who do you think was there? Yes, Sean Penn, smoking a cigarette. I turned around and walked inside the lounge, then sat on the couch next to the counter. I saw him finish his smoke and starting to walk towards me. I thought that leaving right then would be obvious and ridiculous. Then there he was, standing next to me. Short black hair, blue eyes, big nose like a beak. Tall, about 6'3. He stood there for a moment. Then he spoke.

"Hi, I'm Nicholas"

"Brooke"

Silence, silence.

"What do you do, Brooke?"

"I collect dust"

"Hah. Eehh..."

"So what do you do, Nicholas?"

"Boring shit, I don't want to bore you"

"Okay"

"Well, what I do for a living is boring. But I have a passion"

"Okay"

"I take pictures. I am a photographer. I think you have an interesting look. I want to take pictures of you"

"Ahaha. Thanks, but I am a vampire, I can't be photographed. I have to go"

"I love you, Brooke"

"Hah, ahaha"

I stood up and walked towards the stairs. "See ya later, Brooke" he said as I walked up the worn out steps. I didn't respond. When I got to my room I inserted the key in the lock and tried to turn it, but it was stuck again. The fucking thing would get stuck now and then, and since my key was a cheap copy, I had to use the master. I went downstairs to the lobby again, and luckily the photographer wasn't there anymore. Neither was Jules, so I went behind the counter and took the key myself. I went back upstairs to my room, opened the door, left it open and went downstairs. I was very annoyed, bordering angry. I thought about leaving the copy and taking the master, but one was dirty golden and the other was silver. Jules wasn't that stupid.
When I was putting the key back in the rack, I heard his voice behind me.

"I think I TOLD you to ASK for the key when you need it. Didn't I?"

"Hey, you weren't here, and I don't have time to waste looking for you"

"What are..." He hesitated. "You are going to HAVE to waste your fucking time, OK?"

"Fuck you, Jules, what the hell is your problem? Why can't I take the fucking key? It doesn't hurt you"

"There are RULES here, and you are going to go by them or I'm going to have to throw you out" he said stepping closed, and his face was beginning to become red, but this time it wasn't funny.

"THROW ME OUT THEN, ASSHOLE. I WILL FUCKING SUE YOU!"

"SUE ME?!" and he stepped even closer, inflating his chest. I was scared that he would hit me or even worse, kick me out like he said. I didn't have the money or the patience to sue, and I wasn't convinced he was dumb enough not to realize.

"WHAT, YOU ARE GOING TO HIT ME, FUCKING COWARD? I'LL BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU"

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY LOBBY!"

I threw the key on the floor and started walking towards the stairs, trembling slightly. As I went up, I saw Fay going down. She was all dressed up, with bright orange pants and a minimal green top that seemed was going to pop open by the stitches at any time due to her enormous breasts. She had make-up on. There was going to be cock for Fay that night. Fucking whore, I thought. She looked at me with obviously faked indifference. I tried not to stare. When she passed me by, I turn around to look at her ass. It was fantastic, but it didn't impress me. Nothing could impress me at that moment, the world was stupid and chaotic and meaningless.
That night my head started hurting, so I went to Bobby's for a couple Advils. He gave them to me and I told him about my horrible, horrible day. He told me about his, and we argued about who's day had been worse.

"Bobby, one day before I leave this place, I'm going to do something to Jules"

"Something?"

"Yeah. I'm going to light his car on fire or something. You'll see. Then I will spit on Fay's face"

"Hey, do whatever you want to that old fuck, but if you spit on Fay I will fuckin' kill you, bitch"

"HAHAHAHA"

"HAH, HAHA, HAHAHA"

"Fuck, Bobby, why do I feel silly when I think about the future?"

"Well, maybe 'cause you know thinking doesn't make a difference"

"Yeah"



The following days crawled. Every day at La Terraza seemed eternal. I asked for a raise, and the owner almost laughed. People moved in and out of the apart-hotel. Bobby introduced me to his new girlfriend, some luscious looking blonde, eighteen years old without a home. I liked her, and when I told Bobby so he told me she gave great blowjobs. "Besides, I can feel Fay's getting jealous". Poor Bobby. I didn't see Jules a lot, luckily.
Nicholas the photographer managed to run into me in the lobby or the hall or whatever, at least once a day. He wasn't a bad guy, but I didn't want anything to do with him. Sure, I had thought about him a bit. About how fucking him would maybe make me feel better about Jessica and all that shit. About his mysterious boring shit work, and his supposedly beautiful photographs. I even thought about posing for him, at moments, and then I'd feel ashamed. I considered the idea of doing it for money, but I realized that was stupid. And well, I began to loosen up with him. I never like people when I first meet them, never; and then when I get to know them I realize I was right or wrong. Most times I was right, but with Nicholas I had been wrong, for the most part. I say for the most part, because he still had some annoying things about him. Like all his bragging about his photographs, that I never saw; he said he was going to be a famous photographer. He showed me his camera, I had to say it was really pretty. Heavy, seemed expensive. He said it was his precious, his biggest treasure. "If you had to choose between your camera and your penis?" I asked. "Alright, my penis is my biggest treasure. Then comes the camera".
Another thing that bothered me about him was that he was always telling me that he loved me. He'd say it at least once every time we saw each other. At first it was sort of cute, funny mostly, but then it got old and started to be annoying. I tried to tell him, but I couldn't be blunt enough. I just couldn't. Besides, I wasn't sure he wasn't just fucking with me, or trying to get in my pants. He wouldn't have been the first one. So at one point I started accepting his iloveyous like something he did. Bobby and him became friends, they were always hanging out together when Bobby wasn't working. Nicholas didn't work, at least not apparently. That remained for a couple of weeks, until we found out via Mrs. Zandino that Fay had been sleeping with Nicholas occasionally. I felt stupidly jealous for a second, then I decided I didn't care. Bobby stopped hanging out with Nicholas the photographer; and Nicholas the photographer and Fay became closer each day.
About a month later, things seemed to have finally settled down. Bobby was happy with Marla, his teenager; Nicholas and Fay became a couple and he stopped bothering me so much (he'd still tell me he loved me now and then, but not nearly as much). I was alone and calm. Mrs. Zandino still wore black, she even started fucking a black named Calvin who lived two doors from me. Good guy.



So that saturday I woke up when the sun was setting; I had dreamt about Jessica singing to me. She'd sometimes sing death metal songs to me to make me laugh; but in the dream I couldn't laugh, and when I realized it wasn't real I tried to wake up but I couldn't. I put my clothes on and went to Bobby and Marla's, but they weren't there. I went up to the third and heard laughter coming from Nicholas' room. They were all there: Fay, Bobby, Marla and him. There were a few bottles of beer and wine on the little coffee table. They greeted me and I went in. They made me drink wine to catch up with their drunkenness. I didn't understand, but it was all very nice so I didn't ask. We talked about Jules and his fat-ass wife, about Mrs. Zandino's alcohol problem, about sex, about puppets, etc. Fay wasn't drinking, but she seemed to be on something else, probably pills of some kind; she'd lean so violently sometimes that we all feared she was going to fall against the coffee table. Marla, Bobby and I did some coke; and when the drinks were finished we went down and got some more bottles of wine, all paid by Nicholas. At some point Bobby and Marla left, they said they were going out. They were wasted, and so were the rest the us. Fay and I were talking and laughing like best friends, and I couldn't understand how I could have possibly hated her, such a good girl. Sometimes she'd lean forward and I'd take a peek at her cleavage, and I got more and more excited. Then, Nicholas took out his beloved camera, and started taking pictures of us. We posed, holding our glasses, hugging each other, kissing each other on the lips. Some more lines. Fay, my best friend. Then Nicholas went downstairs to get more wine, and Fay and I started kissing again, all very friendly. But suddenly her tongue was in my mouth and my hand was rubbing her tit, that was somehow naked. Oh Fay, Fay. Oh Fay. When Nicholas came in she was on the floor and I was on top of her, sucking on her tits. "BABY!" she said "Look, look what I'm doing to Brooke!". So Nicholas took of his clothes and next thing I know Fay is forcing my head to his cock, and I'm sucking it and she's taking off my pants. It was a pretty good, tasteless cock. Suddenly I could understand what Jessica had done. Jessica? FUCK JESSICA. I sucked it for a while as he jerked it off, and he came in my mouth and my face. Then I focused on Fay, who was naked already; somehow I was naked too. She lay on top of me and started rubbing her cunt against mine. Then she fucked me with her hand, and I came. I went down on her; she smelled like the dirtiest, most stinking heaven. I loved it. I thought about lighting her panties on fire. I licked and licked and lapped and sucked; oh Fay, oh FAY and then Nicholas was fucking me from behind. I'd grind my chin against her pussy. "YES, BROOKE, OH YES BABY; OH EAT ME OH BROOKE" she said. How could I not love her? "Mhhh...AHHH, oh AH! AH! AGH! AH! AAAAGHH" She came and I drank it and I then I came myself to Nicholas' humps and I fell, surrendered; I couldn't move so I lay there while Nicholas fucked me, with my head an inch from Fay's cunt. She had fallen asleep already. Eventually Nicholas came and he sat on the couch, drinking wine. When I felt my legs had the strength I stood up and sat next to him; I cleaned myself with my panties and we drank and I did some more coke. He told me something about the pictures, his photos, how he was going to be a famous photographer. "And you know what? I LOVE YOU BROOKE". Then he fell asleep, and I went up to my room; smelling like sweat and cunt and Fay. Oh, I was in love with life.

The next morning I woke up feeling like shit; the coke hadn't let me sleep until the sun was beginning to come out. I was hungover, on a coke-down, and I STUNK like sweat and cock and cunt and FAY. Oh god, oh my god. I went in the bathroom, drank water and jumped in the shower. I washed myself as best as I could, especially my pussy, hoping I hadn't gotten crabs or something like that from Fay, that whore. When I came out of the shower I heard yelling and screaming upstairs. I put on some clothes and I went where the noise was. It was the third floor, Nicholas' room. When I got there he and Jules were screaming at each other and Fay was standing behind Jules, crying.

"GET OUT OF MY HOTEL" would say Jules, over and over.

"I WON'T GET OUT UNTIL I GET MY CAMERA BACK. OK? THAT FUCKING BITCH HAS IT, AND I WANT IT. SHE MUST HAVE HIDDEN IT SOMEWHERE"

"THAT IS NOT MY FUCKING PROBLEM" said Jules "SHE'S YOUR WOMAN"

"SHE IS NOT MY FUCKING WOMAN!"

I just stood there watching them repeat variations of that dialogue, slowly understanding what had happened. People started coming out of their rooms, alarmed. I could deduce he blamed Fay for his camera that was missing, and he had probably hit her too, so Jules was kicking him out of the hotel. But Nicholas wouldn't leave, he wanted the freaking camera. Then, Fay saw me and started screaming "SHE TOOK IT, SHE TOOK THE CAMERA. I DIDN'T DO IT BABY, SHE DID. I DIDN'T DO IT". Fay, that fucking cunt, accusing ME. Things don't change, only perceptions do. "SHUT UP, BITCH, SHUT UP" said Nicholas "BROOKE IS NO STREET SCUM LIKE YOU, OK? OK?! FUCKING SLUT. MY CAMERA!" so then he tried to get her and Jules tried to hold him, and they started fighting like fucking animals. Fay screamed stupidly and a few of men tried to separate them. They were beating the SHIT out of each other. Like wolfs trying to kill buffalos. Blood all over. Then the police arrived and separated them; they handcuffed Nicholas and Fay tried to stop them from taking him; she scratched the face of one of the copies, so they took her too. I just watched; a bit shocked, but not really alarmed. As she left she screamed "SHE TOOK IT, BROOKE, SHE TOOK IT OFFICER".
Fucking cunt.


Jules came back from the hospital that night with some bandages, looking awful. It was beautiful to see. He told me Sean Penn had paid a strong fine. He didn't even pick up his things. Fay was released the next day and she moved out of the hotel a couple days later. I never saw her or Nicholas again. Things didn't change much at the hotel after that; except that no one said they loved me anymore. At moments I almost missed it. Haha. But then I'd snap out of the stupidity and light up a Kool, listen to some Alice Cooper with Bobby and his girlfriend. Then, they moved out too; and I was left alone with Mrs. Zandino and Calvin and this new guy who had been an athlete in college, but his cousin had hit him with a truck one day and...long story. So a few weeks later I was on the bus on my way back to San Diego and Jessica. I decided she was an angel compared to those crazy fucks.

They gave me two hundred bucks for the camera. I couldn't resist the curiosity, so I had the film revealed before: Four pictures of me and Fay; a blurry, out of focus one of a cat; and thirty-three different pictures (in different angles) of a notebook, with four words written on it:

I LOVE YOU
BROOKE.

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