It was Sunday, yesterday, and in West Hollywood, the sun finally found it’s footing after a wet rainy weekend. We need the rain , more importantly the snow in the Sierra’s, but this town gets a little grumpy when puddles in our potholes make it inconvenient to sidestep strangers on the sidewalks, causing a spoken communication such as, excuse me, please. We are all important people in West Hollywood, sometimes, however the fame and fortune are unrecognizable by no one but ourselves! I was headed to my gym, thank goodness Trump has not taken away my Silver Sneaker membership, and since Joe and I recently moved, my road map took me to the lesser known avenues and pleasantly for me, a more friendly route. I still maintain a bit of East Coast habits (YES, Pittsburgh is of the East Coast, the Ohio line is where the Mid West begins, ask any Pittsburgher), and I try to at least acknowledge people I approach on the street. I began my Sunday morning watching AM Joy, on MSNBC (Joe often times wonder why I place myself in such precarious positions so early in the morning), but, somehow I suppose, like a Vampire, an infusion of turmoil energizes me, and I must suck the blood of the chaos around me to survive. My head was trying to understand how Trump and his cohorts, his family and his Russian colluding Republicans get away with anarchy, treason, and simply said Bull Shit. Even with a pair of Beats-X stuck tightly in my ears listening to Carol King sing every wonderful song from her album Tapestry, recalling those good old days, I was still mumbling, fidgeting, ruminating and debating about the future of my country.
It was then, I saw the lady, who often times was carrying at least four large black plastic bags willed with empty cans, or glass bottles, with her usual route usually on Santa Monica Boulevard, perhaps at that location due to the high volume of cemented to the ground garbage containers. This is the lady who often times would cross the street slowly carrying all of her bags, and most of the time is called names or just given the middle finger because, God forbid some asshole could not make that last minute left hand turn on the opposite tree light. There she was, still covered with the grit and grime of LA, the dirt and dingy grease of street and alley, but this time she was lying upon her plastic bags of used bottle and cans. I wanted to speak with her see if she was alright, but whenever anyone attempts to do so she screams in a high pitch, “My space, get out of my space”. her skin looked even more crusty then I remembered, and for a split second she reminded me, as she was lying on her black muddied plastic bags of the bodies of the victims of Pompeii. I had never seen her so listless, and became worried. A man approached me, noticing my staring at this woman, and assured me, he too was concerned, and had called 911. I suppose our conversation aroused her and she began to yell at us to get away from her space. At that time the Fire truck approached, and she began to hurriedly gather her bags, I guess to escape.
I sighed, and felt a lump of of something stuck in my throat. I knew if i stood there I would only aggravate this woman, so with a half hearted bit of energy, I finished my trek up the hill toward the gym. Whose America is this, I thought, who, the fuck’s America is this? Trump travels first class, his Cabinet members steal from the tax payers, Corporations and the 1% pay little to no taxes, democracy is on its demise, I have the advantage of walking to the gym working out, lamenting the politics of this nation…and this lady is just barely, if at all surviving! What the fuck is happening!
