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had to do something, no? Something. Priorities had to be set. I wondered one more time who in fuck had blown up the first bank and most of the mall with it. I wondered if there would ever be a time again when the causes of this thing would matter, not just the survival of their effects.
    I was watching the door, expecting my girls any minute. So I saw him as he walked in with a bunch of
pelones
I didn’t know. I hadn’t seen him in years, and sure hadn’t been missing anything either. If I could have gotten the hell out of there without him seeing me, I would have run. Fast. I hunched down onto my stool and stared into the bar instead, but it didn’t work. I heard his voice behind me.
    â€œGod damn, Gloria?”
    I stood up and gave that smile that says anything but happy to see you. Especially cuz his eyes were running me up and down. You wanna see me angry? Just try that if you’re not my man. Just fucking try.
    â€œDamn, girl,” he said, “you’re looking good. How the hell are you?” He held that “good” too long, that hug too long; left his hand round my waist until I removed it. I should’ve said something. But I didn’t know what to say to someone who’d been family, some kid I’d known such a long time. Long story. Sad story. I knew more sad was coming, and fuck if I wanted to hear it. I came here to wash sad away.
    â€œI’m good, I’m good. And you?”
    â€œIt’s my first night out since I got stabbed. Three times, check it.”
    He lifted up his shirt and I saw the bandages, other marks almost healed, bruises on his skin. First night out; kicked out of an overwhelmed hospital early I was sure. Amazed he even got into a hospital, must be the baby-face good looks still helping him through the mess he made of his life. Now here he was, already drunk, high. My heart broke a little more.
    â€œDamn, girl, it’s good to see you.”
    â€œGood to see you too, Angel.” And silence then, it wasn’t good to see him, and I hate lying. His face was puffy, all that was fine in it steadily disappearing into whatever shit he was doing to himself now. He looked at me again, had trouble concentrating, uppers and downers together I thought. I’d seen all the variations, hoped he wouldn’t crash while I was there.
    â€œSo what the hell happened to you?” I asked. “Is it cuz of all this?” I gestured at the television.
    â€œNah, same old thing. You know how it is.” A couple walked in even as he said it, and he broke off to stare at the girl. Always a girl with Angel, he was a fucking predator. She was pretty, knew it too, all falling out of that red halter-top. She didn’t look away either. Not until they were passed us and settled into the back corner.
    Same old thing, I thought? Same old fucking thing when L.A. was burning and they were parking tanks on the corners? Ninety-two was a hell of a riot, but this? They’d blown up a fucking bank. To start with. And whoever had started it, terrorist cell or not, shit was homegrown now. This was more like a war, and it wasn’t just the ghetto now. It was everywhere. I looked up at the TV; saw the flames in Santa Monica and down Wilshire. Can’t say I was sad it wasn’t just my neighborhood on fire. Angel looked up too.
    â€œThis is some crazy fucking shit, ey?” He snapped into excited. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of watches. “Girl, check these out. Rolexes.” His shiny eyes were hot on my face. “You believe it? Goddamn gold fucking RO-lexes. Thought I’d missed all the action.” He laughed and lightly patted the shirt over his stab wounds, still looking at me like he wanted me to be proud of him, like I should be. He’d never figured out what would have made me proud of him, even after I told him. “You know what I can sell these for?”
    â€œShit,” I said. “You