East Hollywood Blues

A Diary Of Life Among Millennials

Tag: Meth

Smoke Crack, It’s Classier

While waiting for the light to change near the Scientology HQ on Sunset, I found myself standing next to two Man Buns dressed in the requisite White V-Neck T-shirts, Tan Khaki’s and Brown Birkenstocks.  Although I tried to ignore their occasionally Dude and Pigeon Simile inflected patter,  I soon was drawn into the conversation, a conversation that sounded a lot like an intervention.

Man Bun 1: Dude you have stay away from the Meth.  It’s like killing you.

Man Bun 2: But everybody like uses Meth dude.

Man Bun 1: But you’re like shooting it and it’s killing you.

Man Bun 2: Do you want me to snort it dude?

Man Bun 1: Dude you have to stay away from the Meth.  It’s killing you.

Man Bun 2: Ok dude, I’ll like switch to Crack.

Man Bun 1: Seriously?

Man Bun 2: Seriously dude no joke.  I mean it.  I’ll switch to Crack.

Man Bun 1: Thanks dude.  It’s classier.

Somewhere Frank Sinatra is calling Momo Giancana to order a hit.

 

 

A Lousy Negotiator

A local red hatted Meth freak who differs from the local green hatted meth freak in hat color alone stops me 10 feet from the corner of Berendo and Beverly and asks me if I want to buy a great used but perfect condition mountain bike that just fell off a post for $50.

He pushes said bike toward me as I walk away. By the time I’ve walked to the corner 10 feet away he’s dropped the price to $12. As I step into the intersection he says ok man for you $10.

Moral of the story: Meth makes you a goyish negotiator – and stupid.

The Mandy House

 

A familiar anomaly in the neighborhood last night: a vacant house with a boarded up door drawing foot traffic from the East Hollywood YUNNies and Homeless folk.   It seems the signs warning Do Not Enter and Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted  weren’t having the intended effect to my Ironic beard wearing and toothless fellow neighborhood denizens. In fact, by 11am this morning I watched 15 people use a three knock code on the wooden slat door to be let in to do whatever it is they do in the house of some sort of repute.

Finally after what seemed like an eternity you know 5 minutes, a tout in a Dodgers shirt and hat came up to me from the Water store on the corner.   After the usual street pleasantries and assurances that no, I wasn’t 5-0 or the G,
we got down to business.

“Are you here to see Mandy,” he asked.

“Is she fun,” I asked.

“You’ll love Mandy,” he said.

“She’s that good, huh”

“Mandy will make you feel great Holmes.”

“Will Mandy make me want to go be a force for good both here and abroad,” I asked.

He looked at me for a few moments not quite understanding my question. “Mandy’s not a broad Carnal.” With that he turned, mumbling in Spanish and  walked back in to the Water store.

Note to self: I found the exterior to the Crack, er Cat, er Mandy House in my next project entitled “Lyft Driver.”