How to Get into the Twin Palms

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IT WAS A STRANGE CHOICE TO DECIDE TO PASS as a Russian. But it was a question of proximity and level of allure. Russians were everywhere in Los Angeles, especially in my neighborhood, and held a certain sense of mystery. I had long attempted to inhabit my Polish skin and was happy to finally crawl out of it. I would never tell my mother. She only thought of them as crooks and beneath us. They felt the same about us, we were beneath them. It had always been a question of who was under whom.

I SEE A COUPLE FROM THE TWIN PALMS FUCKING against their car across the street from my apartment. I’m hiding behind the newly purchased ficus on my balcony and watching them. I wonder if they know each other and I want to know what he’s whispering to her in Russian. I am a few feet away from them, in it with them, and I want to know if she’s a suka or his wife. He wouldn’t be fucking her like that if she were his wife. He grabs at her and she lets him touch her roughly and I wonder how he would touch me.

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