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9012-B
Saturday, 19 April 2008

Jared Leto was not the kind of john I would usually pick up. He wasn't a john for anybody at all. He was just standing in the alleyway, trying casually to look this way and that. He shook his head at me.

 

"Move on, sweetheart."

 

"But you're all alone..."

 

"Leave..."

 

"I haven't eaten in three days!"

 

He stared at me for a moment, then sighed and reached in his coat for his wallet. Before he could get any money out, we heard footsteps coming down the alleyway.

 

"Jack?" Jared Leto asked.

 

"No."

 

Jared Leto's eyes widened, and he stumbled backward, throwing me on the ground behind him.

 

"Who's she?" This voice was a woman's, strangely familiar.

 

"She's nobody. Leave her alone."

 

"No witnesses."

 

"She's a NOBODY!"

 

Jared Leto took a pistol from his jacket, and there was a bang, but it was Jared Leto who gave an angry cry and dropped down on his knees. He didn't get a chance to raise his weapon again before another rang out, and he landed on the pavement beside me, skull cracked.

 

The woman who had shot him walked forward, high heels clomping on the pavement. I pulled myself up to try and look at her, but she kicked me in the jaw and sent me sprawling.

 

I realized who it was the instant the bullet crashed into my skull, sending bone and brains all over the alleyway. There were two women. They were talking while snapping their gum. After the last gunshot but before the roaring silence, one of them said into the darkness; "we actually killed them. That's hot."

 

 

 

 


Posted by nine-o-twelve-b at 10:02 PM EDT
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Friday, 18 April 2008
An Explanation
I guess an explanation would be a good place to start. I’m not a rockstar, but I’m every rockstar’s dream come true…I am— was— a desperate hooker. I was pathetic. I couldn’t compete with all the nice L.A. ladies that surrounded me. Los Angeles is not a good place to hook, especially if you’re barely legal and not in the least bit endowed. So I lived on what I could scrounge and the feeble business I could get.  

But I loved music. I stood in the alleyways of clubs I could never get into and listened to the blaring speakers. I watched the beautiful people going to and from their shows and knew that SOMEDAY I would know them, I just didn’t know how.  

And then there he was. In an alleyway. I don’t know why, but I slinked up to him, him of all people, and told him he looked lonely.

Posted by nine-o-twelve-b at 11:13 PM EDT
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A Monologue

There are lots of different ideas about what Heaven is like. Some people believe in fluffy clouds and harps, some in love-making on satin sheets with young beautiful virgins, some in frolicking in endless summer fields until they return to Earth and the living once more.

 They’re all wrong.

Heaven is loud. Heaven has a stage. And lights. And amps. And endless festival seating. Backstage there’s pads decked with pillows and king-sized beds. Beads hang from the doorways and groupies are always around.

Oh yeah, and there’s always an open bar.

There’s lots of different places floating around up there in alternate dimensions. I just happened to end up in the one reserved for rock stars.

Posted by nine-o-twelve-b at 10:50 PM EDT
Updated: Friday, 18 April 2008 11:18 PM EDT
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