The Flavor of Beverly Hills

An invasion of Asian tourists enter Starbucks on the east side of Beverly Blvd and just below Little Santa Monica. It is seven o'clock and all is well. The famed coffee shop is a few doors north of Nate N'Al's my favorite deli for Mom's chopped liver. Across the street Coffee Bean wakes up but not in any hurry.  She has no need to roast coffee since nary a Patron is visible from my Starbucks street perch. 
   The sun comes out and her rays enter Starbucks and orders a Latte while I order a house coffee. I am happy today since a Dr. Peck yanked number 10 front tooth out after it lived with me for 76 years of candy -- mainly gums, jaw breakers, chocolates, and wax juices. But I don't give a yang since all I care about is how my writing shapes up verses Charley Dickens. 
    Outside is a sea of black... big and bigger cars. Everyone wears black with long coats, some navy while a few eastern tourists wear overcoats. The Blue shirts enter with heads tall and order drinks. Outside at a table a young lady scans her cell and stirs her drink with her free hand.  She too wears a ring, but not the 10 Caret stone variety. My attention is grabbed by the middle finger of her left hand. Inscribed on the gold band are the letters, F,U,C, and K.  
    I am glad to be alive today. My eldest is having excruciating back pain due to two Kaiser Doctors who medicated her without treating the cause.  And thank God that a Mrs. Cage from my Met Life Insurance  found me a surgeon  to extract my tooth. Two days ago,  my blood pressure was 220 over 117. Now I take a bloodwith medication and antibiotics it is 130 over 70. 
   Yesterday I celebrated the removal of tooth number 10. I treated myself to some Nate N/ Al's Chop liver and seeded rye bread. The ten and change was worth it. I sat on a Crate and Barrel window platform and spread the chocolate on several pieces of rye. Ladies exiting to an elevator that would take them to Canon or their cars wore all types of shoes. 
   Beverly Hills it is all about the black shoes and with clothes to match. Why some of the shoes should have been x-rated with so many openings. Some wear eight inch heals, flaunt their stones. The classy dames looke straight ahead holding their bags. The didn't look up or down but stood erect just like their stones 
 I remember Beverly Drive when when I sold plastic clocks to several stores. The Bed and Bath bought and Pioneer Hardware six. of my clocks designed by my partner, Clem Hasson.  I met a little man inside his luggage store that sold Spielberg about his stay in a pot factory run by Schindler. Later it became a movie. The  leather-goods store was above Wilshire. 
  Research shows his real name was Polek Pfefferberg until he had it changed to Page. He convinced Thomas Kennedy to write a novel. The novel was called Schindler's Ark. Later, Spielberg got wind of it and made it into a Academy Awards Movie.
  It took Mr. Pfefferberg over 40 years to sell his story to Kennedy who advertised it to Spielberg. He died on March of 2009...Another blog I wrote about was about Horst Cahn.  
    
   I am now inside the magnificent library...Whoops, my time is up! (not finished or edited.)