LA Day

Now, I have to be honest what frightened me more wasn't the man stretching in darkness, face lit only by the LED street lights of East LA. No, it was the height at which he had his leg stretched, nearly to his chin upon a white-painted wall of concrete block.

Walking home, down Elysian, then Sunset, then Echo Park; a car awaited, a faithful steed to take me through the flowing 101 freeway to my newest home.

Today was my first day of real work, and though I'm overwhelmed with the prospect of development, there is quite a bit of prospect. Awaking later than I used to, though it was only 7:30 a.m., I made my way down the two-wrung bed ladder to my desk, upon which I found little to be answered and even less to send.

I've created quite a good work and living space, and now that my roommate and I talk every third interaction it's beginning to feel like home. I scraped the chicken grease from the frying pan; remains of a hot and oily mess that stained my Cococay shirt and the pit of my stomach. I made off with eight cups of coffee this morning, instead of the usual 10, and raisin bran for breakfast.

The morning was full of profiling mission and ministry organizations, making lists and checking them thrice. I've been needing a lamp, because nothing makes work like a well-lit room, so Hollywood's Goodwill called and I answered. I contemplated on a Banana Republic shirt, once, twice and three times didn't get it done; escaped with the shadeless lamp and out into the horror that is 72 degrees, sunny and hardly a bit of humidity.

5:30 p.m.

I decide that rather than reading, I'd find a ticket to the Dodger game. I perused vastness that is Craigslist, made two phone calls and met a dude on a bicycle in front of a liquor store on Sunset Blvd. near Aroma restaurant; you know the place. He said he wanted to go, but sold me two tickets for $10 and made off down the street. At that moment I wondered: were these printed off tickets sold by a guy named Rick, labeled with the name Jason, legit? So, I did what I do best; worry.

I parked at Echo Park to avoid traffic, parking cost and because I don't know the lay of the land well enough, yet. Prior to the oncoming parallel parking adventure, I noticed a man screaming obscenities across the street, fly zipped down, peeing on a 6' electrical box at the corner of Park and Glendale. I was sitting at what became one of the longest red lights of my life, as he finished, continued to scream and then pleaded with me to give him a ride to 6th and Olive. I declined multiple times as he continued to approach and the light continued it's rojo state.

"I'm a surgeon assistant, bro!"

"I really can't," I lied.

"It's just right down there," he pointed and finished zipping up, as I thought: if it's just down there and you're empty then just walk.

Meanwhile, the light continued to stay red and I began wondering if I should roll up my window and/or fly through the light as I could nearly feel the surgeon assistants breath in my face.

Green.

I took off, said good bye, parked and made my way down Echo Park toward Dodger Stadium.

The game was nice, but the evening was more. Dodger fans are loud and we all saw Clayton Kershaw throw a two-hit shutout.