elles birthday, an old art house theater in the Mission District had a marathon screening of his films. Spyder had seen the early stuff dozens of times, so he only came for late night flicks, Its All True, Welles doomed Brazilian epic, and The Other Side of the Wind, a dark, micro-budget film about a bitter director, played by John Huston. He knew there werent enough guns or tits to get Lulu to sit through either movie, so Spyder went alone.
It was almost two in the morning when the movies let out. Spyder went to the corner where hed parked the Kawasaki and lit a cigarette. It was cold and wet. Heavy fog was blowing through the streets like sparkling ghosts.
"Hey, ponyboy. "
She was leaning against the front door of a check cashing shop. Through the open door, restless illegals pretended not to see the down-on-their luck whites who were busy pretending to be somewhere else entirely.
Spyder sat on the bike, took a drag off the American Spirit.
He said, "I have this scar on my arm. Sometimes at night I touch it just to make sure I didnt imagine it. Its where the Clerks marked me. On the table by my bed, I have this big black knife. I close my eyes and my head is full of the strangest images. And none of it seems real. Like maybe all those things I think I remember are kind of the opposite of a drunken blackout. A drunken picture show. But when I fall asleep its all okay because at the end of the pictures, I get the girl. Only I didnt, did I?"
"Im sorry I ran off. Im worse at goodbyes than you are," said Shrike.
"Hows your father?"
"He died. "
"Im really sorry to hear that. "
"Its all right. I took him home, to the Second Sphere. He rallied briefly. I thi
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