A Beverly Hills Side Show

I spilled out of the Metro Purple and climbed the stairs to the outside. The Purple Rapid 7 would pick me up on the other side of Western Avenue. It was now six o'clock and my goal was to visit my daughter in West Los Angeles.
  I felt lucky today. The Metro-Link out of Oceanside had an engine malfunction and needed to be checked before continuing its journey on to Los Angeles' Grand Central Station. The train pulled into the City of Orange. The conductor's voice came over the speaker.
  "We have a problem with the engine. It will be inspected shortly."
  Now one of the reasons I take the above commuter train is for pure air. Besides not checking the ticket holders, these dimwits should have checked the engine before hand. I felt pissed that a few homeless psychos had gone on the train without paying.
  "We need to shut off our air conditioning and we will now continue the journey. Next stop is Anaheim." The damaged engine made it to the station. I taped my ticket and the Metro carried me to Western and Wilshire.
    But the above was history. I made it! The Rapid Purple Bus would be here shortly. The Santa Monica afternoon breeze was just what the doctor ordered. The wind energized me. A few people waited for the bus. It parked in front of an old, old man, me. I pushed two quarters inside the slot and took up a seat.
    I just love these bus rides to West Los Angeles, since I can recall seeing Johnny Mathis at the Wiltern many years ago.  The bus makes a left on Crenshaw and proceeded to Pico. I still can't believe that a golf range is has not taken the place of three or four houses. The Koreans have stamped their clubs on many downtown streets.
   I get off a few blocks after Robertson at Edris and  buy some barbecued chicken for dinner at the Glatt Market. It serves thousands of devout Persian Jews. I split it with my daughters boy friend and enjoy their company.
   The next day I wish to go to Beverly Hills. The @14 bus takes me to Canon where I walk a block to Nate and Al's for their lox, onion and eggs combination. Outside there is   Coffee Bean, Urban Bagels, Sharkey's and a few other stores.
   "Can I have pickles to go with the coffee...Thanks."
   I munch on the pickle slices one at a time. The fresh coffee percolates my mind. I feel excited to be alive. I take my time to groom the lox, onions and scrambled eggs. I drip of few drops of Heinz on the meal and chew each bite ten times. It is great to be alive.
   Then it happened. I hear a kid cry. My serenity has been uprooted. A young gal is escorted to a booth next to mine with her jerky crying kid. I move my plates and book to a table far back. The noise has stopped my mood-at least for a minute or two.
  I pay the bill and take the coffee two doors down to Starbucks. Their floor show will begin soon. Enormous black makes vie for parking spaces. One good looking gal parks and walks to Starbucks. Her tight fitting slick jersey gives me the eye.
  This cute one comes to her car and a ticket cop tells her she should drop a few coins in next time. "I will not give you a ticket if you put a few coins inside the meter. The ticket cop also wishes to see the floor show. A man mutters that these Beverly Hills people don't need to pay taxes, as the meters cough up the bills
  All the men are well groomed and they have a Beverly Hills walk to their stride. Other city men can not duplicate their walk. It is stiff walk, and without looking down or left or right, they open the Starbucks door and wait in line, with patience that goes far.
  Well the library doors open in a few minutes. And there they are, the same crowd that has been coming forever. There is Tory Pines Magpie, her long dregs covering her body. There is Nifty Mike, whose legs can't remain in one place. And there is talkative Phil, who speaks to everyone in ears-way.
  Got to go now, my computer hour is up.