Angelina at the Serrano

I was so tired of working so hard. Constantly being tired and hungry.
I got off the N-Judah train. Stopped in a cafe. Considered moving home to my parents house in San Diego. Their five-bedroom, three-bathroom suburban house seemed like a sanctuary. It was so cold in San Francisco.
I might be done. Trying to make it on my own. If this was what it took. It seemed kinder this way. Harm reduction. Why not move home? Clean up? Go to graduate school? Get one of those MFA’s Dave talked about. Work on those novel manuscripts I’d discarded.
Limone moved out. I got lonely. Went to Reno for Christmas. Spent the return trip thinking about how nice it was to eat enough. I wasn’t willing to steal, even when I was starving. I was slowly starving, as the temp jobs dried up.
I felt less and less welcome in my usual nightlife haunts.