Two years of nothing. Then three little earthquakes. A big one is coming, said everybody in Los Angeles. The big one.
I prayed. Dear Lord, if you make an earthquake, make it kill. None of this middle of the road shit. Swallow my workplace whole. Otherwise, if you just do damage– I’ll still have to go in. In fact I’ll have more to do. Picking up, salvaging shit… toiling to rebuild from your half assed wrath. Haggling with electricians. Nitpicking over permits. Repairmen will be in demand; everyone will be after the same four guys who can fix earthquake shit. On me to get them fast and cheap. Cajole them on the phone and suck up and if that doesn’t work yell at them. Sit on hold. I’m sorry, 0 is not a valid entry. Goodbye. Hold again. Please Lord destroy the phone company. Destroy the computer with the hard drive with the recording of the lady who talks to you on hold, who curtly jumps on every 30 seconds into Gabor Szabo or whateverthefuck to say “PLEASE WAIT.” What a cunt, that woman. Swallow her into a crack in the Earth. Swallow it all. Make a quake so big the whole ocean pours in and eats LA; every gas main blows, we all sizzle and scream and then sweet quiet blackness.