It was shot in black and white,
but it would have looked the same in color –
the gray, fleabag motel
chosen by the young film maker
for his desperate robber.
A night on the lam before skipping town.
He had a suitcase of money,
a gun, dark sunglasses,
was trying to break out,
and you could clearly see across the street –
the Triumph motorcycle shop
basking in the California sun.
On Washington Boulevard
I found that bike shop
and looked across the slick black street –
the mud in living color.
I had a suitcase of ticket stubs,
the Ray-Bans, was trying to break in.
Damn! Where was I going to sleep?