27 May 2010

The Helicopters are Fucking up My Sleep

For the longest time, I was in denial about not being in Japan. LB + I loved it so much we didn't want to leave the motherland (yes, I'm Hoppa, in case you didn't know!) + now that were back, we're already plotting ways to go back to Japan next year. As if to symbolize how out of sync I am with the Pacific Time Zone + life back in LA, my body wants to go to bed at 4 in the morning + wake up at 1. And last night, to add insult to comedy, as I was going to bed, I noticed LB was up.

--Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you baby.
--You didn't, she said, it's the helicopters.
--Whah?

I admit, at first, I thought she was embellishing. I embellish from poetic license + she embellishes because she's Peruvian, so you never know. But there actually were helicopters hovering above our bedroom, going back + forth in circles. It sounded like a fucking invasion. But there was still this voice inside my head that said: it only seems like a military exercise to someone with a paranoid mind, but you're not paranoid so let it go. Maybe the National Guard is transporting humanitarian supplies to Louisiana or something. But then, unmistakable as a porn star in a miniskirt, we heard this from the loudspeaker coming from a police car outside our apartment:

--Policía! Policía! Code 3.

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