OT: Outta Town
To live a first-world life in a third-world city
by Ethan
A subconscious response to Hector Tobar’s New York Times article how Los
Angeles is becoming a ‘third-world’ city
Arriving home, I slid my 1984 crème Mercedes 300CD, yes, the coveted
diesel coupe, ‘Joyce’ into my 2 car garage, nestled next to a 1979 Porsche
928 ‘Blanca.’ The clanging and clinking of glass and aluminum falling to the
asphalt behind me alerted me that someone was rummaging through my
rubbage. An old man, in his 60s, is digging for glass San Pellegrino bottles
and food trays from Friday night’s moon circle that I hosted, despite not
being allowed to participate since the gathering was ‘women only.’ I unloaded
the Trader Joes groceries and overpriced Gelson’s firewood from my trunk
while a middle-aged couple walked by smoking something that smelled
like sage. In the house, a 1920’s Spanish with beautiful arch details and
original Douglas fir hardwood floors, I changed into my running clothes—a
black Brian Lichtenberg tee shirt from his 2008 la fashion week after-party
at Bardot where Sam Sparro played, black Reebok shorts, and black New
Balance running shoes. I filled a mason jar with cold Brita water and downed
most of it before slipping out the front door, leaving the window open and the
deadbolt unlocked, trusting.
I chose to take a different route from my normal pass up the hill that takes
me by raging twin pit bulls, then across from Gaslamp Killer’s house, before
I’m swept into quiet overwhelm with views across the river basin to Los Feliz
and Hollywood, and then to Make Out Point where I see clearly into downtown
and out to the Angeles crest. No, this time, I went to the other side of the
river. Half covered in shade, it was a nice wide path that graced the edge of
the Mellow Rapids.
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