The Indio Greyhound station is a weird scene. Between the homeless man yelling semi-intelligible profanities at the girl behind the ticket counter and the gangsters with face tattoos eyeing you apprehensively, it makes for a rather unnerving place to wait nearly three hours for a bus. Add to that the San Bernardino rush hour traffic and wait for my ride from the abominable Los Angeles Greyhound station and you can perhaps understand my feeling a relief at finally drifting off to sleep at Max’s apartment.
The next day, between naps, I found the time to buy groceries and prepare a twelve servings’ worth of lasagna noodles and filling. When Max came home from work, we cooked up a batch for dinner and then walked to get gelato at a place on nearby Sunset Boulevard where I’m certain I spotted Jena Malone!
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