Mexican Monkey and I decided to do some single track. It was pretty rough at first. I didn't get ten feet before I fell over, luckily against the cliff and not over it. I told the monkey to go ahead and ahead he did. Right into a hole and over the bars. We were a mess but it didn't matter because we were laughing so hard about it. Rusty as a pail of nails were the two of us and that's okay.
The clouds were beginning to thicken and the threat of rain came in droplets now and then. We rode on though to the overlook where there is a bench and that's where we smoked a joint and talked about Mexican Monkey's straight boyfriend, Ceaser. He was being pissy because Mexican Monkey didn't take him out to the bars so he could get as drunk as shit. I think Mexican Monkey is beginning to like fresh air and country over boom-boom rooms and bad boys.
That's okay because so do I. Are we getting old?
Yep.
Stories from living in Los Angeles
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