The child that is my Highland Park is only ten years old. Some have of course lived here for many generations. I see and feel them. The teenagers skating down the street pants sagging sharing headphones like it’s 1999. The kids playing in fire hydrants like it’s Bed Stuy. The mothers and grandmothers selling tiny trinkets and treasures; the middle-aged men selling watermelon and jicama and mango and cucumber with spicy salt and lime. The bad boys that work as Pep Boys and their angry girlfriends who pace up and down Figueroa, yelling at them. I have a deep dark fondness for these neighbor-strangers. Once or twice, I have moved or almost-moved from this neighborhood for one reason or another, but really it is just not an option (for my heart). I think of the bar, Good Housekeeping, where I held a toast the weekend my dad died. Where I play music once a month so lesbians can dance their hearts away. Where the blonde boys at Cookbook know me by name and give me focaccia sandwiches, where the cool girls at the candle shop next door quit and then get their jobs back because, honestly, there is something special about that silly little store. Where business owners hose down the sidewalk in front of the cafes and it smells like my theater camp growing up. Where my girlfriend lives. Where her daughter lives. Where it’s wet and hot and shops are always open and expensive. Where I wander aimlessly and buy vintage snakeskin cowboy boots and $5 bike shorts made in China. (Ugh.) Where a coffee costs me 8 bucks and a car wash costs me 6. An old cowboy staggers, seaglass bottle in his leather hands. “You walk a little too fast for me, honey,” he mumbles under whiskey breath, “I’m a slowpoke.” I laugh out loud. Old friends tell me my neighborhood is far. Far from what? As the rent prices continue to sprout higher and higher like Jack and his beanstalk and a pesky Le Labo plants its feet, I decide I will make more money to be able to afford to live here forever. I must. I will pour time into the city to help families who have lived here lonnnnnng before I ever did. I will be mindful of my waste. In other words, fuck Jeni’s ice cream. In other here, come here for a second. This is the place where we listen to music together. Yes. This is the place where we sing.
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I can taste every word. This is really hitting the spot.
and yeah fuck Jeni's
Fabulous just like you.