September 2017 – East Hollywood Blues

The subway ride today found me standing slightly in front of two college girls in their baby blue tennis uniforms with EAS stitched over the heart slowly making their way back to NoHo from 7th Street/Metro Center or various other points in between. They were engaged in a conversation about a boy and a girl.

Girl #1: So they he said it and it happened.

Girl #2: It happened?

Girl #1: It really happened. It happened.

Then they speak quickly in some language I’m not sure of even though I understood some of the words as they ran by quickly. It was as if Moon Unit Zappa’s Valley speak and Esperanto had a child in Encino. After a few seconds they were back.

Girl #1: Then she said it and it happened.

Girl #2: It happened?

Girl #1: It happened. It really happened.

Girl #2: It really happened?

Girl #1: It really happened. It happened.

They lapsed back into their post-Valley Speak speech. Maybe it was the humidity, the heat or the feeling of disgust as another Mass Man and great unwashed Meth freak argued over the chewing gum on some passed out schmucks’ shorts but I thought I could understand what they were saying, as it happened.

At that exact moment in time, the train came and I was off to East Hollywood and a date with destiny or a chicken burrito which ever came first.

This may sound odd but I’m pretty sure I was at Ground Zero at the discovery of cold fusion.

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.”