Second Hometown L.A.
My second hometown, not born there, just lived there many years.
I know the streets, hills, signs, landmarks.
A lot of struggle, a lot of time spent, a lot of people I used to know.
So many stories to tell, both good and bad, how would I describe it?
A town that was hot and yet so cold at the same time.
When you first go there you love the red sunsets and palm trees blowing in the ocean breeze.
A quiet exit, when no one is looking, out the side door to the freeway and gone.
The smell of sun-baked exhaust and the scent of red sand blowing from the east, a red wind Chandler warned about.
Such beauty and ugliness, wealth and poverty, peaceful serenity, and violent chaos next to one another.
I remember the riots and earthquakes, torrential rainstorms, the scary but harmless potato bugs, the gorgeous colors of the Bird of Paradise growing under my window.
The window of a small mother-in-law apartment built on the front of a house, a rent deal I couldn’t afford to say no to, in a black neighborhood, and being white, I acquired more depth to my education.
Learned to watch out for the California smile, because it isn’t friendly beyond the veneer.
Some of the strangest people I ever met, some of the most dangerous, most unreliable, yet, most memorable.
Of course, it’s gone, stolen again. I had 2 go that way, only in this recurring nightmare, I’m like a character from Kafka.
I just can’t get there in time, always another delay, wrong trail, things turning into other things, persons into other persons, and then I awake to discover it was just a dream.
Another dream of L.A.