charlie chaplin pretends to be reading aleister crowley. actually, he's just talking to himself. behind his back outside the window, the kiss guy is playing with his fake stick-out tongue, constantly readjusting it as if on meth and rediscovering a piercing. he's swaying to a kylie minogue tune in a pace so peaceful and slow it makes you think of ancient religion.

the kiss guy slurps the last of his ice coffee to go. he's not a loner like charlie, there's the little guy leaning over to exchange words and smokes. it's chucky, already scaring bystanders as he puts on his mask.

the break is over, captain america is waiting. batman is late, hauling himself uphill while the sweat pours down his waxed thighs under his black plastic cape.

the summer hasn't even started yet on hollywood and highland. Safy

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