A FEW LA OBSERVATIONS

Every morning I take a stroll down Hillhurst Avenue, to purchase a cup of coffee and a donut. The coffee is to get me up and going and the donut is to remind me that I am a diabetic, and this is what I’m missing. As I traverse down the busy road early in the morning, usually about 7:00 a.m., I have to cross a number of streets that have traffic lights. These lights have been installed when I made my reservation to fly here. Believe me.

As I approach the corner, the light is green, I still have a ways to go yet, but it is green. As I descend the curb to cross, the light turns red. A big palms-out hand denies me my rights to cross, and almost mocks me, saying: “YOU’RE GOING NOWHERE CHUMP.” Of course I feel offended, but I stand still and fume. After several weeks, the light changes back to green, the hand changing shapes that says: “Come on, I dare you.” I step into the street, and halfway across, starts warning and flashing me: “MOVE YOUR ASS GUY.” As I come close to the curb, the light changes and I feel I am in violation of the law, and some policeman is going to nab me for j walking.

One of the streets I cross on my way to donut land is Kamikaze Blvd., the street that has an Indianapolis Speedway trial run for all motorists looking to enter the race. They usually point their engines right at me. Honking their horns, and accelerating even faster than they can go, to achieve warp speed, while killing a New Yorker, and maybe even themselves, they race down the street. As the zoom by, they usually salute me with one finger, meaning I guess; “You’re number one”.

The Ladies that walk the street, especially during the daytime, are of the most interest. LA Ladies are talkers, affixed to their ear is a cell phone, which can stay there without the use of a hand. They usually walk in pairs, carrying bottled water, and a shopping bag, tattooed over every inch, sunglasses set permanently on their nose, and their gait somewhat casual.

Down the road from where I stay, is the LAFD. That brave band of boys that help keep the city of LA from sleeping. All fire fighting must come by my door, pause, blowing their sirens, horns and whatever the hell that grinding, deep beat of noise they make is. The people of LA must stop playing with matches, especially after 9:00 P. M.! On top of this, it all occurs at only two instances, so I should really be thankful. Instant one is as I doze off, shaking me out of my restful pose, and giving me a shock so severe, my necks snaps forward. If instant one is not terrifying, then instant two really finishes the job. I get on the phone, the critical part of the conversation comes and so does the FDLA boys.

I am tempted to set a record for LA. I am seriously thinking of j walking, discarding trash AND spitting all at once. Let’s see if they can deal with that?

Don’t get me wrong; I love the city and the state. The people are pretty nice, and nice looking. But there are evil forces about, designed to make my stay miserable.

Tired of the bitching and moaning? Then write to:
joedelbroccolo@yahoo.com
Tell ‘em; “Shut the hell up already.”