She can't bake a cake when the moon is this full. Floating with the nocturnal angels enveloped in a blue dream on the corner of San Vicente and Sunset she watches abstractions come to life. Sunset Boulevard creature cakes dripping bomb rocked busy disappearing into patchwork posters that adorn the Whiskey. She takes the change from a homeless man and throws it into the sky making survival starlight pour down in bitter envious mockery. Laurel Canyon feels a million miles away down here and she almost looks beautiful until I realize that she's my ride home. Her fragile fall outline turning into dust ridden bones in the rearview mirror of a passing ambulance as we await our untimely death.