Tinsel Chink
Our last ride of the night had become our first ride of the morning. Liz and I had spent long intervals between rides shivering by the side of I-5 south from San Francisco. Then we had dozed fitfully in the back seat of this car from dawn through the morning. As the noonday sun rose over the smog on a crowded freeway, the driver took the long, curving ramp at the Highland Avenue Exit into Hollywood and let us off near the Hollywood Bowl.
I had groggily shouted for him to stop there because Liz had caught a glimpse of the keilin, the Chinese unicorn, standing in the narrow shadow of the exit sign. From there, it flitted away, now invisible in the sunlight, and we followed in the direction it had taken. Liz was as excited as puppies in a moving dryer.
I limped badly on my lef
