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I decided to return without notifying her. Took the bus and arrived in Los Angeles. I found my way to her apartment and let myself in with my own key before noon. The apartment was small but very neat, clean, cozy--in a word, her. I thought about how soft and gentle she was as I undressed and showered. After the shower, some music, the old LPs, I couldn't remember which were mine that I had left with her. It was hot in late July or the beginning of August on that day and I fell asleep naked on her bed.
The noise of someone trying to enter the apartment woke me up. I got up. Through the venetian blinds I could see a young man holding open the screen door, trying to open the glass door; he had a key. He fumbled a lot while trying to keep a large square package about an inch thick under his arm.
I yanked the door open with the key still in the knob right out of his hand. I yelled into his surprised--then frightened--face.
"What the hell you think you're doing trying to come in here?"
"I ... I ... was just returning these records," he stammered as he noticed that I was buck naked and quite at home.
I towered above him although he was just a little shorter. He still had one foot on the ground and one on the first of three steps. He backed down, scared, off the first step.
"Give me those records and get the hell out of here. Claudia is mine, and if I ever see you around here or her again I'm going to kill you. Do you understand, cabron?"
"Yeah, sure, sure, here, take 'em, a couple of those are mine," he whimpered as he handed me the package of records.
I glanced at the records quickly and shouted that he better get the hell out because …