designer, was always trying to coax him into hanging out with the sons and daughters of her coworkers.
"Here," she'd say, handing him some money, "why don't you get dressed up and go out? Or go to the country club a couple nights this week. Krystal and Zona—I've told you about them, haven't I?—they go there all the time, and they'd love to meet you. You know, they're reading for parts all over town. It's only a matter of time."
Kevin had no desire to get to know any of them. He knew they were just clones of their parents, who were just like his parents, and he didn't like their company, either.
Kevin preferred the uncomfortable stools of Sam's Stop, the greasy food and the smoke from the grill as it blew in his face. He liked the activity of the street and the sidewalk behind him as he ate and visited with his friends—friends he chose for himself. He liked Sam, too, a wiry sixty-year-old man who hated Los Angeles but stuck around because he couldn't think of any place he hated any less.
As he drove down Woodman Kevin squinted ahead through the smoky haze of his visor to see who was at Sam's this morning.
Sam was standing behind the far end of the counter, his face hidden by the morning paper.
A tall slender person with long platinum hair and sunglasses stood at the opposite end facing the street, elbows on the counter, booted ankles crossed.
As he got closer, slowing down the bike, Kevin looked at the stranger's face. It was narrow with very fair skin, almost porcelain. The mirrored shades rested on high, pronounced cheekbones. Shadows carved hollows in each side of the long face.
Kevin thought, at first, that it was a woman, but as he drew nearer he spotted the bulge of an Adam's apple below the razorlike jaw. He seemed to be watching as Kevin approached, but through the dark glasses it was hard to tell. His hair was short and spiked on top, disappearing behind his shoulders in flowing strands of glaring platinum. The breeze shifted the ruffles that went down the front of his blousy white long-sleeved shirt; it was tucked into the black jeans that clung tightly to his long, narrow legs.
Kevin kept his eyes on the stranger as he pulled his bike up to the curb, watching him inconspicuously through the edge of the visor. The man reached up with his right hand, curled his long and slender fingers around the sunglasses, and slid them off his face.
Kevin froze.
The stranger's smiling eyes seemed to gaze through the visor, straight into Kevin's. He propped his elbow on the counter again and let the glasses dangle from his fingers.
Kevin killed his engine and swung his left leg up off the bike, keeping an eye on the man. As he walked toward Sam Kevin pulled off his helmet and tucked it under one arm. Without moving his head, the man watched Kevin, a slight smile resting on his thin lips.
"Hey, Sam," Kevin said, perching himself on a stool. "How's it hangin'?"
Sam peered over the edge of the paper, a frown crinkling his stringy features.
"This fuckin' city," he growled, crumpling the paper into a heap on the counter.
"What's the matter now?"
"Ah, somebody killed a cop and dumped the body in a garbage bin in North Hollywood. You believe it? Didn't even leave a mark. Just a few bites where the rats nibbled on his corpse."
"I thought you didn't like cops, Sam."
"Don't. Hate 'em. What'll you have, kid?"
"Eggs over easy, bacon, and white toast."
Sam switched on a portable radio that sat on a shelf above the grill; tinny Top 40 music began to rattle from its battered speaker as he cracked open a couple eggs.
Kevin pulled the paper across the counter and scanned the headlines, turning slightly to his right to get a better look at the stranger from the corner of his eye.
He was facing Kevin now, one elbow still propped on the counter. The breeze shifted his spiky platinum bangs back and forth over an arched brow.
"Hey, man, you gotta problem?" Kevin snapped, turning to him suddenly.
The stranger's mouth curled
"Here," she'd say, handing him some money, "why don't you get dressed up and go out? Or go to the country club a couple nights this week. Krystal and Zona—I've told you about them, haven't I?—they go there all the time, and they'd love to meet you. You know, they're reading for parts all over town. It's only a matter of time."
Kevin had no desire to get to know any of them. He knew they were just clones of their parents, who were just like his parents, and he didn't like their company, either.
Kevin preferred the uncomfortable stools of Sam's Stop, the greasy food and the smoke from the grill as it blew in his face. He liked the activity of the street and the sidewalk behind him as he ate and visited with his friends—friends he chose for himself. He liked Sam, too, a wiry sixty-year-old man who hated Los Angeles but stuck around because he couldn't think of any place he hated any less.
As he drove down Woodman Kevin squinted ahead through the smoky haze of his visor to see who was at Sam's this morning.
Sam was standing behind the far end of the counter, his face hidden by the morning paper.
A tall slender person with long platinum hair and sunglasses stood at the opposite end facing the street, elbows on the counter, booted ankles crossed.
As he got closer, slowing down the bike, Kevin looked at the stranger's face. It was narrow with very fair skin, almost porcelain. The mirrored shades rested on high, pronounced cheekbones. Shadows carved hollows in each side of the long face.
Kevin thought, at first, that it was a woman, but as he drew nearer he spotted the bulge of an Adam's apple below the razorlike jaw. He seemed to be watching as Kevin approached, but through the dark glasses it was hard to tell. His hair was short and spiked on top, disappearing behind his shoulders in flowing strands of glaring platinum. The breeze shifted the ruffles that went down the front of his blousy white long-sleeved shirt; it was tucked into the black jeans that clung tightly to his long, narrow legs.
Kevin kept his eyes on the stranger as he pulled his bike up to the curb, watching him inconspicuously through the edge of the visor. The man reached up with his right hand, curled his long and slender fingers around the sunglasses, and slid them off his face.
Kevin froze.
The stranger's smiling eyes seemed to gaze through the visor, straight into Kevin's. He propped his elbow on the counter again and let the glasses dangle from his fingers.
Kevin killed his engine and swung his left leg up off the bike, keeping an eye on the man. As he walked toward Sam Kevin pulled off his helmet and tucked it under one arm. Without moving his head, the man watched Kevin, a slight smile resting on his thin lips.
"Hey, Sam," Kevin said, perching himself on a stool. "How's it hangin'?"
Sam peered over the edge of the paper, a frown crinkling his stringy features.
"This fuckin' city," he growled, crumpling the paper into a heap on the counter.
"What's the matter now?"
"Ah, somebody killed a cop and dumped the body in a garbage bin in North Hollywood. You believe it? Didn't even leave a mark. Just a few bites where the rats nibbled on his corpse."
"I thought you didn't like cops, Sam."
"Don't. Hate 'em. What'll you have, kid?"
"Eggs over easy, bacon, and white toast."
Sam switched on a portable radio that sat on a shelf above the grill; tinny Top 40 music began to rattle from its battered speaker as he cracked open a couple eggs.
Kevin pulled the paper across the counter and scanned the headlines, turning slightly to his right to get a better look at the stranger from the corner of his eye.
He was facing Kevin now, one elbow still propped on the counter. The breeze shifted his spiky platinum bangs back and forth over an arched brow.
"Hey, man, you gotta problem?" Kevin snapped, turning to him suddenly.
The stranger's mouth curled
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