a million moths.

to say about sweet mitzu. “meat soup” in my mind. homecoming princesses crowned with tiaras. a crazed gerbil down my sweatshirt. a buzzing bee in her hand. fresh tuna, dark lipstick and a wealth of stories about a wealth of boys that came and went like mitzu’s hair balls: tony, josh, alex, jose, ryan and leo. once, because we thought we were cool, we wore matching men’s boxers — with no pants — to school. and once, because we were bored, we ended up stranded along train tracks running for our lives. if our parents could have locked us in our closets until we turned 21, i’m sure they would have. though knowing us, it would have made little difference.

* photo: santa monica. february 2009.