Bronson Canyon in Griffith Park.

Batman used to park his fancy car here.

Years later, the Daggers and the Ramp Regulars whupped up on each other here.

To me though, as my favorite fireplug and I watch the clouds over the Hollywood sign, as it often does, Bronson sounds to me like this:

ah...

//
What was that noise? There it is again, what was that?

Hang on what's this behind me?

A sock and some undies tangled in the brush. Dumped and tangled together, but one is old, and one fresh. As if they've been chrono-synchlasticaly infundibulated. Weird, this is familiar. I know I've seen this before.

There! That sound again. Behind me this time.

What?


Who-

I understand now. Spoor.

You again!


(As always, for listening only. Click play and proceed.)


You thought you'd seen the last of me. You thought I'd given up on catching you back in January, didn't you? And now near the end you thought it was over, didn't you...
Mister 2007!


Well here I come!

Where'd he go?

There? The bat-cave? You can't hide from me there.


And...

GO!


I'm coming for you, 2007!

Can you hear my footfalls draw closer?


Gah! Even in your old age, you're still slippery.


Thought you'd lost me again?

I saw you go in your little cave.

That's a good trick, I'll give you that.


You become more insubstantial towards your end...

...but I can still feel you all around me even here.

Your footsteps echo everywhere in here, you can't hide from me in here.

There you are!



























Where'd you go?


2007 is almost done for. He's eluded me for a whole year so far, or I've let him. It's all the same this close to the end.

Best I just let him go, no telling what could happen to me if I managed to catch him. Slight though it is, I didn't have this moustache when I went in the cave.

Best I seek fresher prey, if I'm to do this at all.


So much to choose from...

Maybe...




This diet will end me yet.