Just like the Salmon that swim up the Columbia River in Washington to lay their eggs and die, I too have the same urge, but instead of laying eggs, I enjoy hitting volleyballs, but I am not quite in peak condition to try it-just yet!
With my back pack over my shoulder, I trudge down Pico blvd towards the Glatt Market. Their just-off-the-tree tangerines sell for 99 cents a pound, and the walk is worth every step. I am happy my daughter placed three hard boiled eggs and some salami inside a bag. It is a bit cold, so I snap the top button on my all-black weather Costco Jacket. Senior Pico wears a Yamalka today and the street speaks Hebrew.
I buy two and change worth of tangerines. I meet two produce workers. It is my way to practice Spanish, soon to become the number one language in the United States. One turns my way and smiles.
"How is San Diego...nice to see you amigo."
"Not too bueno. Looks like the Chargers are not going to Carson. The St. Louis Rams are coming to Inglewood. But the good news is that San Diego owners now are considering a move to Mexico City and be appreciated."
"Bueno, we mucho gusto the Chargers...Buenos Dias hombre."
Outside on Edris, the Purple Blue Rapid drops a ramp for me. I climb aboard and deposit my fifty cents. Latino fill each seat. Their day is begins by cleaning the homes of those living in West Los Angeles. A few have taken their children to help. I am the only gringo on the bus, besides the homeless one talking to himself.
I am in heaven since I can view Pico Blvd as we approach Santa Monica. There is the trolley finished now to take the weary traveler away from the streets and allow the train to deposit them to the finest beaches in the South Bay. There is Santa Monica College where I received my AA degree. Mrs. Owens, in speech class, made me fell important. Her smile and a bunch of A's on my speeches gave me hope I was good at something.
The bus drops me off on Fourth across from the Santa Monica Shopping center. It is too early to go to the food court so I trudge up Colorado to the Pier. On the corner the destitute who live under the stars are slowly unwrapping their sleeping bags and removing their signs. With luck, they will pick up a buck or two or perhps even more.
I place on my sun screen and sit on the bleachers that face the volleyball courts. The bleachers are my wind breaker as the fog begins its slow advance on the beaches. Below me, a sea of Scandinavians, Germans and other Europeans make their way down the path to the ocean. Their ghostly white skin blend in with the sand. They never heard of sun screen since it is not needed in Europe.
I remove a few tangerines and a couple of eggs. I am tired and hunger overwhelms me. I also eat my salami package and take out my book. I see Sam the one who hangs around these courts always.
"Hey Sam, here is a tangerine."
"Are you to play today?"
"No not eye, but maybe tomorrow."
"How old are you?"
"Shade under ninety."
His phone rings and I take out my book about the life of Darrow, the famous lawyer. The sun plays peek-a-boo with the fog with the fog winning the war. I remove myself and do my toilet on the pier. The new camodes are great, I make my way across Ocean and onwards to Santa Monica Blvd. On Fifth and Santa Monica the number 204 takes me across town to Roxbury and the Beverly Hills Library.
Got to go now. Need to sign off from this computer.
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