Last time I was in Los Angles an artist tried to choke me. I walked up and shook his hand so he smiled, snarled and threw his arm around my neck. He pulled me to the edge of a balcony and tried to throw me over.
“I just want to kill you.” He whispered in my ear.
I broke off and looked at him,
“What the fuck man?” I asked.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
His breath was pure gin. But so was everyone- this was a graduation party. I turned for a moment to see if anyone had noticed but they were all drunk and busy with each other. I noticed the pale moon gone gaunt and yellow. Bloated and bleeding over the horizon.
The artist jumped at me, caught me unawares,
“I just want to kill you.” He said.
I pushed him off again, I was tired of his shit.
“Listen man, I don’t want to fight, I don’t like to but if I have to I will.”
Then I walked out.
I was heading for my car when voice I knew called my name. I stiffened and searched for the source. But it wasn’t the artist. My old friend Ramses dropped down from a camera with a tree. Or was it from a tree with a camera?
“Ramses,” I said, “you’ll never believe what just happened to me-”
He just nodded. I felt cold fingers around my neck and a voice whispered in my ear,
“I just want to kill you.”
Ramses lit a joint, snapped a photo and walked back inside.