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GTA
Circa 1994: Jersey City The realization that your car has been stolen hits you like a Dodgeball in Gym class. It burns. Emotionally, it makes the same THWANG as when the rubber hits your skin. I had walked up and down the block several times, second-guessing myself, convinced I had parked it down the street from my apartment. “…Is it on the next block?” And so, to the next block I walked. Up and…
Bartender Chronicles: Dodged a Bullet
Circa 2002: The Standard Hotel, Rooftop Bar, DTLA. It was the afterparty for Ghost Ship premiere. It was a huge event. There was a rock band with a professional concert stage, media equipment, photographers, entertainment reporters, and private security. Over 500 invitations were sent out. More than 300 people RSVP’d that they were coming. However, all the “extras” to transform The Roof into a…
Tales of a Scapegoat
I didn’t see it coming. Usually, I never did. There was a surprise, explosive pain to the back of my head, followed by a weird numbing sensation throughout my body as I was thrown to the floor. Suddenly, my older brother was on top of me. My shoulders were pinned to the forest green carpet by his knees, and he sat on my upper body, eliminating any defense or escape. It was a move he perfected…
Family Ties
When he died, their father had an unexpected final request which was a surprise to Carol and Edward, who were urgently summoned to the office of their deceased father’s lawyer and executor of his estate, Malcolm DeVenny. After receiving the phone call from DeVenny that afternoon, Edward picked Carol up from the hotel where she had been staying for the duration of the funeral planning. She…
Homeless Chronicles: R*ped by Venus
After spending hours on the road sweltering in traffic, I was in the home stretch, blocks away from my building. I pulled into the service road that ran parallel behind my building and Vineland. As I approached my building, I saw the bicycle Ice Cream Vendor, a staple of my neighborhood for as long as I can remember. I pulled to the side of the alley and eagerly flagged him down. It was the…
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The End
The end of the world was coming. Actually, it was in progress, and it was chasing me. I was in my car, speeding down the freeway, trying to outrun a wall of voluminous clouds. It pursued, close behind, rolling over the asphalt and gaining speed. The opaque, billowy clouds, chalk white with flashes of silvery lightning, swallowed everything in its path. I was on the phone with my mom, describing…
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Once More For Good Measure
It was early morning when I attempted to cross the busy road next to my building on foot. I was exhausted, but sleeping in wasn’t an option. I had chores to do and my rescued kittens to tend to at the Old Woman’s house down the street on the other side. This was my morning routine for the last seven years. I had long since foregone any sense of vanity and typically shuffled my way there in…
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If the Glove Fits...
Los Angeles: 2003 It was winter. Rain-filled days were abundant. The humidity was laden with the pungent aroma of orange and yellow Lantanas that lined the pedestrian walkway along the alley behind my building. The deep, evergreen leaves glistened with fresh droplets of a recent shower. It was my first full day off in a week from working two different bartending jobs. I desperately needed to…
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Exquisite
Circa: Staten Island 1992 I found myself sitting on a couch at a house party somewhere on Staten Island. The room was filled with cheap cannabis, even cheaper furniture, and cigarette smoke. Sandwiched between two half-baked stoners, my mood began to spiral as the clock ticked. I didn’t want to be there. This wasn’t how I wanted to spend my night. But when you’re the best friend of a chick who’s…
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Can any of you amazing people please help me find the origin of this vase or something like it online? I found it at an estate clearing. The glass is thick and has a nice weight to it. Thank you so much!
Baby kitten likes spinach.
Into the Wild Kids
Into the Wild Kids
Into the Wild Kids Since I moved to Los Angeles, I’ve seen variations of them all over from Melrose Ave to the beaches of Venice and Santa Monica. Modern-day nomads, living day to day, moving from one place to another to another, walking, hitchhiking, by whatever means available with nothing more than a backpack and the clothes on their back. Some of them have signs stating they’re trying to get…
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Oranges Don’t Cure Cancer
As I rounded the corner back towards home from my dogs’ walk, my dogs and I encountered a homeless man struggling to sit down on the sidewalk next to a clothing donation box. He was clearly exhausted. I’ve come to know the local homeless people in my neighborhood from over the years, and for the most part, they have been unthreatening and upheld interesting conversations with me. I’ve known many of them by their names, but this man was new to me. Not knowing anything about him, I smiled, said hello and kept my dogs and me on our way. However, my rescued doxy/chihuahua mix, Dixie, had other plans. She dug in refusing to walk and began pulling towards the homeless man, now propped up against the donation box, his legs stretched out in front of him. Dixie began to whine and was adamant about making contact with this man.
Since her rescue, Dixie has proven to be an extraordinary dog. Her energy has a calming effect on other dogs and she has yet to meet another she couldn’t win over. She is also incredibly friendly and insists on meeting everyone in her path (our walks sometimes take forever because of it) and will climb into anyone’s lap who happens to be sitting down when our paths cross. Very much like she was doing at this moment. Her claws scrapped the sidewalk as she fought to backtrack towards this man. He watched her with the same caution I watched him.
“Hi. Her name is Dixie. She really really wants to say hi to you. Is that okay?”
He looked at me almost surprised I was speaking to him. He nodded and I gave Dixie some slack. She immediately, tail vigorously wagging, climbed into his lap. He looked at her puzzled as she got comfortable and stable. She looked up into his face with her big brown eyes. He cracked a little smile and put a gentle hand on her back.
“She seems to like you, a lot.” The other two dogs paid no attention to the man.
“I think she knows I’m dying.”
It was an odd thing for him to say and yet I found myself engaging him. “From what?”
“Cancer. They kicked me out of the hospital a few days ago.” His eyes were sky blue, intense, urgent, memorable.
I’ve heard this before, I’ve seen this before, and it’s frustrating and heartbreaking. Thousands and thousands of people on the streets of Los Angeles, homeless, mentally ill, drug addicted, terminal without resources or help of any kind. Dying on the streets is a reality for so many people. “Can I call anyone for you?”
“How can you help me? I have cancer.” He answered on autopilot, assuming he’s disclosed having cancer to other people getting the ‘what can I do’ impulse response.
I learned a long time ago there’s nothing I’m capable of doing to help so I offer what I can do. “That’s not what I asked. I asked if there was someone I could call. A family member? The hospital?”
He looked down at Dixie who was still happily perched on his lap. “No, there’s no one to call.” He gave her a gentle stroke down her back and I tugged on the leash, prompting her to come towards me.
“I’m very sorry this has happened to you,” I said sincerely and left it at that. Anything else would come across condescending and I continued on my way with my dogs.
I was angry and saddened that this was the life for so many people. I was pissed to know that the city of Los Angeles has over 40,000 empty buildings that could easily be turned into low-income housing or shelters and yet nothing has been done to help those that need help the most. It burned me when I learned that the state of California has had 2 billion dollars earmarked for homeless housing for the past two years and not a dime has been spent. Fuck fuck fuck. I couldn’t stop thinking about the homeless man on the rest of my walk. When I got home, I grabbed my last two oranges off the kitchen counter, a bottle of water and two red velvet dessert bars and threw them in a small plastic bag. I headed back out the door.
The homeless man was in the same position as when I left him. “Hi,” I said. “What’s your name?”
He glanced at me and eyed the bag in my hand. “John.”
“I want to give this to you, it’s not much, just what I had.”
John struggled to get up; I did my best to help him to his feet. When he finally stood, I was taken aback by how tall he was. At 5’10 he had a good six inches over me and seemed rather solid while on the sidewalk he looked crumpled and deceivingly frail. I caught a whiff of him. He didn’t smell like alcohol or body odor or even cigarette smoke like one would expect. It was mild but it was clear, it was decay.
John took inventory of the bag’s contents. “This won’t cure cancer.” His tone, almost offended, perhaps disappointed that it wasn’t some cure-all in a bag.
“No, it won’t,” I said.
John nodded. “Thank you.” For whatever reason, he felt he needed to move on after our encounter. I watched him walk down the block staying close to the buildings, slightly limping. It was the first and only time I saw him.
Joy to the World
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It’s Thursday and I debate whether or not to go to Skid Row. I can’t find my driver’s license and recall having it the last time I went but haven’t seen it since. I spend a brief time looking for it while the chorus for Three Dog Night’s Joy to the World relentlessly rings in my head. Joy to the world All the boys and girls Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea Joy to you and me. I need to do…
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#SkidRow #54Blocks #Homeless #LosAngeles
#SkidRow #54Blocks #Homeless #LosAngeles