Chasing Her (Dark Love 3)

The last time I played was Legend of Zelda back in the nineties. Right before Chelsea—don’t fucking go there, not now.

“Listen, ki… Tristan. I’m not a video game kinda guy. Since it’s your first day in Cali, how about we head down to Venice Beach?”

“Awesome, bro!”

“Yeah, awesome.” I shake my head before letting out a small laugh.

The first laugh I’ve had in months.

***

We walk along the esplanade, and like always, entertainment surrounds us whichever way you turn. One can spend hours here just watching the different acts desperately trying to drum up a crowd for a little bit of cash. People of all ages glide past us on roller-skates, some on Segways. Ladies in shorts and bikini tops will casually walk by, their sun-kissed tans and long hair shimmering in the sun. Tristan stops every so often, his feeble attempt to flirt with the hoard of girls, not that effective.

“So, you’re an Aussie? Do you know the Hemsworth brothers?” They giggle.

“Sure! Jason and Keith? In fact, I went to school with them.”

It’s cringeworthy. I don’t have the heart to tell him they are referring to Liam and Chris, but feel like I need to when they walk away in a fit of laughter.

“Snobs,” he yells out.

“Uh, kid… I think they were referring to Chris and Liam Hemsworth.”

“Don’t call me that, and who?”

“You know… the two Aussie actors.”

“Oh… Thor! I knew that. Mate, the women here are hot! Damn, I’ve been missing out on so much in boarding school…” his voice trails off as we walk past the weights area where Arnold Schwarzenegger wannabes are showing off and trying to be the next big thing.

“How do you think I can get guns like that guy?” Tristan points to a somewhat slim guy, though his forearms are nicely cut.

“Gee, ki… Tristan, you’ll need to start taking steroids or something. Have you even finished puberty?”

“Nice one… not! I might have to check out the local gym. You’re not bad, what do you bench?”

“I don’t go to the gym. I do weights at home.”

The gym is where you meet beautiful ladies who have a fucked-up past with a shitload of baggage. Lesson number one—the type of women who rip your heart out of your chest, stomp on it in front of your very own eyes, then throw it back in your face saying, “Ha-ha, loser.”

“Like Bruce Wayne?” he blurts out, followed by a chuckle.

“How original. I haven’t heard that before.”

“Really? Because you really look like—”

“Sarcasm, Tristan. Look it up.”

We walk a little further past the juggling performers before stopping at a coffee cart. I order an espresso and offer to order Tristan one since the kid looks broke.

“Coffee?” He raises his brow like I just asked him if he wanted a glass of cyanide. “Mate, that’s old people’s drink… I’ll have a milkshake.”

“Milkshake? That’s a child’s drink,” I mumble beneath my breath.

After grabbing his mi

lkshake from another shop and my espresso, we find a bench to sit at looking out over the ocean. It’s a lovely day, as beautiful as you can get in LA. I’m still not used to all the smog, not when you’ve visited some of the most picture-perfect beaches in the world. Still, it’s a refreshing change to be outdoors.

“So, are you still a journalist?” Tristan asks.