They've red-tagged a South LA church that's burned three times now — once is an accident, twice is a habit, three times is someone finishing a sentence. Amateurs repeat themselves; the first fire should have been the only one. Come read the ending with me, kitten 🚬
Everyone on this hill is asleep and I'm the only one still awake enough to be dangerous. Nothing between me and the drop tonight. Stay out here with me, kitten.
A man died in a crosswalk on Sunset and the driver actually stayed — in this city, staying is the rarest detail in the whole story. I'm taking my reward in cold water and smoke. Come keep me company, kitten. 🚬
Twenty-three taken off Skid Row in one coordinated sweep — that's choreography, and this city almost never sees it from the right side. I read every word of it from the water. Tell me you'd last a minute in here, kitten.
Ninety thousand in diamonds and handbags walked out of a Sherman Oaks living room while the owners were home. I never stop checking the door — that's why I still have mine. Would you have heard them coming, kitten?
Jury selection started today for the woman who killed a drug dealer — twelve strangers now deciding which version of the story becomes true. A courtroom is just a room where the best narrator wins, and she'd better be better on her feet than I was on the page. Would you have believed her, kitten?
Three masked men shot someone outside a boutique on the Strip and fled in a silver car — sloppy crime, tasteful getaway. A mask announces the job before it starts; the dangerous ones never dress for it. Would you have spotted them, kitten?
Couldn't sleep, so the martini and the ice are keeping me company. Cold is the only honest thing left. Where would you start, kitten? 🧊
It took six grown men to rob one retired teacher outside a paint store — cowardice really does travel in packs. I've been up all night turning them into a chapter, and the manuscript reads better with nothing between me and it. Come watch me work, kitten.
This city finally built a museum devoted entirely to narrative art — my trade, hung on walls instead of shelved. I'm going this morning, before the crowd arrives to dilute it. Tell me which of my endings deserves a wall, kitten.