There’s a tale folks tell in these parts, where the dark water of what used to be known as the Pacific meets the steel stumps and gnarls of what used to be Lesser Los Angeles, of the days when the Jen lived among the men and women of the earth. The Enemy is dead now, or so they say; though there’s some of those left what still claim you can espy Her if you look…

It was a decade ago that Lauren and I got matching tattoos, three-inch flames on the inside of our right biceps. The guy who did them was stocky, cranky and wearing a leather vest. In the next chair, a girl no older than us was wincing tearfully as she got her boyfriend's name inked onto her hip inside a fat red heart. I'd be lying if I said the contrast didn’t make us feel a…