Red Eye Home

When I arrived back to L.A. this morning, I found Taylor's severed head sitting on the marble floor of the middle level patio of my Bel Air home. His thick blonde hair was matted with gory blood and flecked chips of bone around the hole in the back part of his skull, where the shotgun blast had been the most damaging. His bulging, dead eyes were still bloodshot, and his bottom lip had been carved (chewed?) away to reveal his cigarette/weed smoke-yellowed teeth. Where his left ear should have been, a note had been tightly rolled and shoved deep into his shredded auditory canal. I freed the note and dropped Taylor's head over the patio railing, listening to it bounce down through the sage brush and jacaranda trees, the sound finally disappearing into the valley below. "Good riddance, motherfucker," I whispered.

WHAT THE NOTE SAID:

"You have been Boo'ed. Happy Halloween. Love, Taylor."

I tasted the blood left behind on my finger tips. Corn starch and sugar.