I write Melrose like it means something, like everyone's walked down that avenue halfway between Hollywood and Hell-A, their bare patches of skin absorbing smoggy sunlight. Noisy even on a Friday morning, roaring with traffic and blaring music and tiny hubs of commerce hocking commercialism. Fifty dollar vintage tees and body piercing. Sketchers and sketchy 'ho tops. Paradise.
Melrose is every alternative corner of every urban center, but stretched out thin, to the breaking point, along two miles of street. Every brand of freak is welcome. I tend to be three different kinds of freak at once, so this works just fine by me.
Wrote that maybe a month ago? But it still makes me want to go shopping.