Spooks

Well, morning Sam
Like a bad-luck planet in today’s horoscope, here’s the ol' hippie hating mad
dog himself in the flesh
Lieutenant detective Christian F. «Bigfoot» Bjornsen
John Wayne walk, a flattop of Flintstone proportions and a shit evil twinkle in
his eye that says 'civil rights violation'
At Playa Vista High, Shasta made Class Beauty in the yearbook four years
running, always got to be the ingenue in school plays, fantasized like
everybody else about getting into the movies, and soon as she could manage it
was off up the freeway looking for some low-rent living space in Hollywood.
Doc, aside from being just the only doper she knew who didn’t use heroin,
which freed up a lot of time for both of them, had never figured out what else
she might’ve seen in him. Not that they were even together that long.
Soon enough she was answering casting calls and getting some theater work,
onstage and off, and they each gradually located a different karmic thermal
above the megapolis, gliding each into a different fate
Back when they were together, she could go weeks without anything more
complicated than a pout
Now she was laying some heavy combination of face ingredients on Doc that he
couldn’t really read at all
Does it ever end?
Of course it does
It did