Little Italy

A few blocks from the downtown 'Y' I made a date with Little Italy. Even though a few minutes late, I wished to fix my camera, scout apartments, and just hang out. A Mozart evening at the Balboa Theater would be my last event in the day.
   I left my hot house cell at three o'clock and ambled north down India Street. To avoid another panhandler, I crossed over to the west side of the street, and avoid the afternoon sun. A north wind threw the fog back into the ocean.
   I felt a bit dirty since I couldn't shower. The Y.M.C.A. water heater had been on the blink so I had to make do with a cold one.  Of course, it was the new owners way of saying good-by to more tenants. Yet the open air market was just what I needed to forget May and live another day. I would walk to Little Italy. (The new owners probably wished to save on their use of water.)
   I passed out my blog to a few apartments and condos on the way. After a few burger and coffee shops, I noticed sexy legs in front of me. I appeared that every long legged gal in San Diego walked my way. Their pumped up horn heals made them appear taller and more inviting than ever.
   With the northwest winds my lungs opened up. I could smell the Italian food up ahead. After Date Street,  white table cloth's  opened their arms to me. "Not quite yet," I replied. "Just wait until I get my book published and I will wrap your table cloth over me."
   I could not get over how dressed up the small hamlet looked. Unlike the Gas Lamp area, I felt like a European in Sicily. All I saw were legs, and more legs. I made it finally to Nelson's Photo, and a sales clerk told me my camera needed a new hearty battery.
   Across the street watching me was my friend. It had to be over a hundred years old and colored like a candy store. A couple of months ago, I took my picture at the old ginger bread house. Again I returned  the other way. I felt good that my camera worked. I stopped a happy-go-lucky tourist.
   What do you like about Little Italy?
    "Well my son lives here. We are on a long vacation. We began in British Columbia and a few people told us to go to Felipe's . We did and were not disappointed. "
    Well for me, the Harbor to the west, and the planes overhead taking their final approach make me feel on a vacation. Of course this is June, and everywhere in San Diego the city is bursting with tourists. Are you staying for Del Mar racing?"
     'No we are leaving for Vegas in a few days. Here is my card, I will keep in touch."
    I continued to walk until my legs told me a rest was needed. I sat and my nose stood up. A small Pizzeria with "Na" for a prefix  beckoned. I ordered a veggie and was not disappointed. It had heavy crispy crust and lots of olives and mushrooms. (One week later I returned and ordered a Pollo-Salad.)
    I took my time and let my eyes wander to the table next to me. My pupils bolted out. A tall Chinese doll sat with her bearded boy friend.Now all she carried were legs, but what legs! I could have had three lunches on those legs and tossed out the salad and the potatoes. The stings-beans were enough.
   Again, on my way back to the Y, every couple had legs. I could not get over how sophisticated and gorgeous the young ladies looked. I felt sure some would carry their legs to the opening day at Del Mar, but his time wear long bright wide hats. Most of those with long beautiful legs carried a large diamond, and why not, most certainly their legs deserve it.
  The one thing that marred the day is I went to the wrong theater. At least the movie about Italy was by far better than any Mozart concert.