I worked for a menial’s hire
Only to learn, dismayed
That any wage I asked of Life
Life would have willingly paid.
Many years ago, Los Angeles was hit by a relentless rainstorm the likes of which I’d never seen in my life. It rained for what seemed like forty days and forty nights, nonstop and hard. Rivers overflowed. Houses slid down hillsides. Bad hair wreaked chaos throughout the most image-conscious city in the world.
This was the kind of rain you didn’t want to be driving around in in anything, let alone a twenty-three-year-old junker convertible with a leaky roof, no grill, a back window that was duct-taped shut and a front ...