40
I check the sky for whirlybirds and my wing mirrors for distant flashing blue.
No sign yet, but soon. I reckon I'm twenty minutes out from the city. Clear of the viaduct but in need of cover. I spot a black dot in the sky. Getting bigger. And I think I hear the churn of helicopter rotors, the ringing in my left ear easing off.
Yep, looks like a chopper. A few miles out. And are those blue lights back there in the far-off distance? The freeway is coming up. I can't afford to take it.
Yet all is not lost.
I see an underpass under a small bridge with a bunch of homeless guys camping out beneath it. One is trying to hitch a ride into the city using a battered piece of cardboard. It says L.A. In crude brown lettering written in something I don't wanna imagine.
I pull off the highway, d
