Then this girl appeared out on nowhere and asked if she could use my phone. She ‘needed a ride’.
So I lent her the phone and she proceeded to talk for ten minutes about how Julio needed to come over right now and ‘smoke her out’. Cause she wasn’t gonna take Araceli’s b******* anymore. She was tired of it. She was done with that, so done with that, you have no idea how loco and she needed to get high and she was tired of everybody’s stupid b******* and no one listened to her anyway.
She got down into a squat and rotated away from my gaze, murmuring and gesticulating. Finally I walked around into her field of vision, and she turned away from me, annoyed to have her privacy intruded upon.
‘I’m just going to be a minute. Okay? Jeez.’
She took another five.
She handed the phone back without thanks and started throwing rocks at a metal pole.
I see two lessons here. Always take the railroad tracks instead of the street. Don’t lend your phone to strangers.
Do dreams come true when they are wished for ungrammatically? Is there such a thing as mis-spellings in the subconscious? Are wishes and dreams still counted as aspiration when they are commodified as mural art for a retail establishment selling car stereos, rims, window tinting and lambo doors? Perhaps the artist was trying to write ‘wish home true’, a phrase of deep poetic geometry, but messed up his gangster cursive, just as the left cerulean eye doesn’t quite match the aquamarine right. In the great Mid-Valley Cultural Ghoulash, even an after dinner walk comes with meditative delight, free of charge.
Not a corn maze. A working cornfield, awaiting harvest. Any one want to guess where this is?
Valley Sod Farm, North Hills. If you bought a lawn in the past ten years, it probably came from here.
Nostalgia mural, NoHo Arts District. The story of Valley development in three pictures. Water brings orchards. Orchards give way to subdivisions. Subdivisions require lawns and landscaping. Houses with big lots give way to apartment buildings. Apartment people get stir crazy, feel the need to take walks. The city entertains the walkers with fanciful depictions of the orchards that once were. And yet! The quirks of development are such there remains today strange pockets of the old Valley primeval, fertile and abundant, tucked just out of view. Like a huge working cornfield a mere frisbee toss from the boulevard, and all those harried parents, inching forward, one light at a time, on their way to a ‘pumpkin patch’ in a parking lot.
Your love is like barbed wire around my heart. So intense the world must keep it caged behind this chain link fence, lest it burst free, run amok, and set the city aflame. We must avoid looking directly into each others eyes lest by our power we melt each other like votive candles. Ay, mi amor, 4ever? Totally. For Ever.