Dr. J. Teller's posse grows by one

It's a cold, cloudy morning in late November, and I'm riding a gold motorcycle on the freeways of Los Angeles. The motorcycle is actually on auto-pilot, so instead of worrying about not killing myself I'm free to concentrate on the scenery. I pass by a Los Angeles landmark, the place underneath a massive interchange where you can see the uncleared remains of an overpass that collapsed during its construction. It's now overgrown with green creeping vines.

In my mind I play back memories of the night before, when I was speeding along a dark highway in the farmlands far from the city, watching yellow and blue flames consuming the trees by the side of the road.

I arrive at the hotel, and as I dismount the bike I find a key on the ground. I put it in my pocket, making a mental note to turn it in to the clerk at the front desk in case someone comes looking for it.

My mother is already waiting for me at the hotel. The tournament is about to begin.

* * * *

Walking outside my apartment (still in Los Angeles), I see a strange piece of graffiti on the sidewalk. It says, "DR. J TELLER HAS A POSSE." I have no idea what it means, so I go inside and look it up on Wikipedia. Inspired by what I learn, I draw more of the inscriptions in purple chalk up and down the street.

* * * *

It's the week of Christmas in Albuquerque, sometime in the early evening. The streets are wet with recent rain. I'm driving my mother's car because she's out of the country, visiting my sister in Japan. I'm stopped at a red light on Monte Vista Boulevard when I see police cars pass somewhere behind me in the rear-view mirror, lights flashing.