on general movements, El Patron and the girl...part dos, Salute!

Ok, back to the glory that was El Patron's story (my dear friend Martin from the LBC). So this cat is filling his tank up with premium petrol at some station in South Central. El Patron shocks and strides with a pretty deep footstep and can navigate diverse situations be they in the hills or the hood, whatever. Now, while he is filling his prized car's gas tank, he notices a girl noticing him doing some filling. And according to his telling, a common twinkle in each other's eyes mark a magical moment that he had to move upon. He was mesmerized by her gaze,, caught, pinioned, stuck inside a black hole singularity, a k-hole of chaos and electricity, a distinct attraction, hypnotised inside an eternity of pressure and congress delight- upon returning to his natural, unbent faculties made fierce attempt to locate the now disappeared nymph. His eyes darted, left and right and quickly, his head tilted slightly to the about, nose slightly pinched searching for that delicious scent, her flesh and sweat mixed with gasoline, sweet yet flammable. The scent, caught, the flash of a brake light, yes, that brilliant silhouette looking neatly back, but speeding away! In the suck of a quick breath, El Patron has disengaged the gas dispenser, jumped in his car and gave screeching, spy chase trying to dodge on-coming traffic and better judgement!, El Patron continues forward, sanguine, perpendicular and yes, delightfully phlegmatic following residual heat from his beautiful folly. He follows what he thinks to be her into a parking lot of a residential complex. He sees a shadow walk behind a corner into what he would soon discover was the back entrance of a multiple unit building. Once he got back there he had to decide,

1. "Am I going to really knock on one of these doors?"
2. "What am I going to say if it's the wrong door?"
3. "What am I going to say if it's the right door?"

El Patron crushes questions to action and like a General on the battlefield, General movements, decided the most strategic course of direction, equating odds and heating quick language, thinking and tongue for whatever case knocks...

The door opens and the light, a shadow, the eyes struggle to drink enough light to process, a little more, yes, it's her! He tells us that she looked a little confused and he started speaking to her in Spanish which he reveals he is "way more efficient in...". El Patron begins to notice her demeanor soften, and then down right liquefy. His last masterstroke was that he decided to give her his number instead of ask for hers and risk her being uncomfortable after he already was so aggressive at the beginning. Genius. The deal is that it is not even really that important to the story if she calls or doesn't. The point of the story were the strong, general movements he made when risk was high and danger was almost certainly afoot. The Cult of Los Angeles is made from this brand of adventure seeker, romantic, hero of the left-handed path. These are my friends, this is us, Cult of Los Angeles...I am in a hurry to post this so it will be edited later.....

I am not a gentleman...

The Cult of Los Angeles is the sum of a lot of things and sometimes the summation of the equation is not civil, gentle or balanced for that matter. Alas, sometimes, the Cult is ugly, violent, nasty. Ya, nasty...

These words are for the murder of Ego.