i was remembering all these

I was remembering all these things on the flight to LAX.

I was replaying them all in my head as I got my bag from the luggage claim and hailed a taxi outside.

And I was trembling with fear… and maybe something else… when the cabbie dropped me off outside of the hotel.

It was a new place. Fancy shmancy. Called the Dubai.

It looked like a fitting place for rock stars. Lamborghinis and Porsches out front… red velvet carpet… valets in white suits… a cavernous lobby of black and white marble trimmed with gold, trying hard to look like a fever dream out of 1001 Arabian Nights.

I wheeled my crappy little rolling suitcase over to the front desk. A bellhop tried to take it from me, but I politely declined. Then I talked to the supermodel concierge about the cheapest room they had, which I’d only gotten because Rolling Stone was footing the bill and had to maintain appearances.

I looked around the lobby, filled with men in Armani suits and women who had more silicone in them than body fat.

Than