Bourgeois Pig, photo by sandrosamigos

FICTION: A bit more from the unedited novel-in-progress, The Forest Dark, making use of L.A. location Bourgeois Pig. Hear the traffic. See the arguing baby boomers. It could get ugly:

Noah and Eden sat outside at the Bourgeois Pig tables on Franklin Avenue so she could smoke.
Since she was buying, Eden figured Noah would put up with the traffic noise. He could have ordered anything, but Noah was Noah: a simple coffee, black, with an extra shot of espresso.
He looked around as if it were unfamiliar territory. She assumed he really hadn’t treated himself much, at least in recent years when things had been so tough with money.
“Whenever I’m down here I always try to figure out who the Scientologists are,” he said, looking down the block at several pedestrians.
Eden still fumed inside about Barbara, about Zeke, about Warren fucking Medina and his Louie request.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s their church right across here. I think all these businesses are really shadow corporations of theirs for money laundering and other activities.”
She hadn’t noticed the sign until then: Scientology Celebrity Centre. Maybe he was right. After all, he’s the one who’s lived here the whole time, not her.
“What is wrong with you?” he asked. Continue reading →