Pulling from the Notebook: Killing Time
I have this notebook. I write things in it. Here’s one of those things.
I’m sitting outside a Starbucks on Sepulveda. I’ve just finished my drink and pastry (Today scone wins — sorry cheese danish, maybe next time.). The birds are fairly brave here. Definitely used to people. They check me out a couple of times and decide that there’s a good chance I won’t leave anything for them to eat (they’re right) and leave.
I spot and iridescent green and purple hummingbird. I’ve never seen one like that.
Across the street sits the Hacienda Hotel. It still appears to be active but it also seems like it’s from another time. Three other times, really. From right to left you can see where they made expansions and it looks like the next designer didn’t care or try to follow who came before. What I assume to be the oldest part looks like it was originally a motel — with rooms practically on the street. The second phase has sort of an early 70’s feel. The third and final portion appears straight out of the mid-80’s with it’s tubular bars and curved windows. This building is the most jarring and as it stands a little away from the others, I can’t confirm that it actually is part of the hotel — but for now, I’d like to think that it is. As odd as the whole scene is, it works.
In front of the outside seating area where I write, there is the normal cluster of newspaper vending machines – most of them of the free rag variety. LA Xpress is there. I notice that it’s free now. Back in the day, it used to cost money. Go ahead and think what you will but I never bought one – I just know this because there was a stand in front of my first apartment in L.A. (classy!) and all over Westwood where I worked and hung out. I consider picking one up because I am, like I was then, curious. What is in there? Naked pictures? Big deal. I assume there must be more. Surely, there must be more. As I am thinking about this, a man comes up, nonchalantly opens the dispenser, grabs his copy (a few down from the top because the top one is always dirty) and goes on his merry way. I’m kind of surprised that he does this in full view of all who are sitting here. I get a feeling that I can’t pin down. Do I feel sorry for him? Am I jealous of his comfort level in going after what he wants? I chalk it up to feeling a little nauseous due to the Russian family that just parked themselves behind me and are smoking. Yes, they have kids.
Yes, I am leaving.
