I was driving down Whittier Blvd last month in Whittier and passed the Vagabond Inn. It’s nothing to write home about. Just a motel on a Blvd that used to be more important than it is. A street that was once a destination for cruising that’s now just any other street anywhere.
But I shudder when I pass the Vagabond these days.
It was the site of an ill-fated decision. One that I have come to regret even though I know that given the chance to do things differently I’d have to make the same choice twice.
That’s how choices are sometimes.
VAGABOND, part 1:
Vagabond, my sister.
She was in a second floor non smoking room smoking non stop.
There was a cloud of it when I opened the door.
Like stop drop and roll here comes fire thick.
She lunged forward to hug me and I felt myself…
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