So after watching The Hitcher, we decided to go to 66, since we didn't hit The Kitty last night. I think this night was my third time there, though it might have only been my second. It seemed pretty dead, but despite that, we only got 2 songs in, though D-Man might have had more since he got there before us. Additionally, Antoine Bugleboy had chosen to grace us with his presence. So we do our thing. At some point, a group of people who actually remember me from the last time I was here request Clint Eastwood, so I do that, which relieves me of the issue of actually having to a choose a song.

Time passes.

Eventually, we bail. The Asians, ravenous people that they are, want to eat. Hungry though I am, I relay the state of my wallet and I'm graciously offered coverage. I graciously accept. I drop off my passenger and meet them at Canter's, enjoying the near-freewaylike quality of Beverly Boulevard at 1:30am. I arrive, park without incident since it's a weeknight, ignore the massive crowd outside, and head in. We eat. Foolishly, I get a bbq burger instead of matzo ball soup, but it's good. They eat breakfast, which is something most people do, except me. I very rarely eat breakfast foods between the hours of noon and 5am and really for no good goddamned reason, either.

We chat.

We finish up and bail.

I drive D-Man back to his car at 66, with a minor detour because the extended conversation put me on autopilot for a bit.

Driving back on Sunset Boulevard, I see a hitchhiker at Western. A woman. I know of no culture that would find this woman attractive and even my occasionally deranged tastes find nothing appealing here. She is, to put it bluntly, fucking ugly. And yet, I stop. She's heading downtown. It's somewhere around 2am. I have nothing better to do and downtown makes no significant impact on my gas tank, given where I live. She gets in, I drive. We make small talk. Apparently, she was left at a party by some so-called friends of hers and had been out there for two hours. Worse, the cocaine has long since worn off. Her husband doesn't drive and the bus drivers have some sort of issue with her pass. I offer sympathies as I wind through the streets, eventually delving into parts of the city I've never seen and never intend to see again. Downtown at night is horrific. Watching the various denizens go about their nightly business, I wonder if perhaps if the entire area and all the people within it should just be destroyed. I drop my passenger off. She is extremely grateful and offers her number, so I can call her if I ever want to go to a party. I decline, not having a pen handy and not sure I'd want to party with her crowd, even if they were generous enough to offer a line or two. I only tell her the first part of that, of course, and drive off. Leaving the area, I feel as unsafe as I have ever felt in this town, despite the significant police presence.

Still, it was an adventure.