There is something mythical about this town. If you were to grab it by the ankles and shake it upside down, you’d be left with a dusty pile of cocaine and glitter. I love it. Sitting on the bus, two hours before my next audition, I absorb all the characters around me.
An old lady knits across the aisle. The curly haired boy before me has headphones on, his fingers tapping ever-so-slightly with the beat of his music. He stares out the window. Two middle school aged girls in navy school uniforms with knee-high socks sit across from him, one gazing at him longingly. The other’s nose deep in BusinessWeek.
I feel a tap on my shoulder. Turning around, I’m faced with two high school girls with glitter across their eyelids and straight blonde hair.
“You’re the tampon girl, right?” One asks excitedly, pointing to the ad overhead that I shot six months ago for Tampax.
I nod, and smile, turning back around. The bus lurches to a stop and five new passengers get on, including a young couple who can’t seem to keep their hands off each other. I feel another tap, more impatient. Turning again, I look at them quizzically as the other one begins: “You’re in that new movie with Orlando Bloom, right? What was that like?”
“It was fun,” I say shortly. I turn, eager to get back to observing the characters on the bus, including the old woman whose knitting has turned into an extra long sweater with four arms. But behind me, the girls murmur loudly.
“If I got to kiss Orlando Bloom, I wouldn’t be such a bitch.”
I hate LA.
(279 words)
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