A Sunday in Santa Monica

I needed to cradle the day. It took six buses and two trains to get to my friend, Connie Glickman. The Blue Seven off at fourth and Broadway. This would be my day to enjoy the sun in Santa Monica Beach.
    As I was looking for a room in Santa Monica or Malibu. A crowd of seniors crowded the stop. A lady smiled as I asked why the occasion.
    "Going to the Kellogg House in Pomona. Waiting for a bus."
     "Thanks. Here to look for an apartment in Santa Monica...There is so much mildew in my apartment that breathing is difficult."
     "Perhaps the Salvation can lead you in the right direction...It is next to the Edwards building and down this alley."I thanked her and continued south towards Colorado Street, across from the Expo Line  crossed the street and walked west towards the ocean. 
    The northwesterly winds gave the air a pure and vibrant quality. But first,  I needed to go for breakfast at Mac Donald's  on Colorado a block from P.C.H. I ordered the Deluxe that included hash brown, pancakes and English muffins. It cost five and change.
    The restrooms were clean and when my number was called I picked up my tray and took a clean yellow plastic seat. From my back pack I pulled out Mr. Trotsky and began to read his biography. My empty stomach growled with excitement as each bite slid effortlessly to my stomach. The feast was over in a flash. (Trotsky wrote War and Peace.)
    A burnt faces to go with their mangled hair walked in and out, filling their cups with soda.  A few burnt toasted slid into the rest rooms. It felt good to know that Santa Monica took care of its homeless, and the only city that has two or three free public restrooms. But my Beach, Old Muscle Beach was calling me.
    I waked past the Lobster to the pier. The Merry-Go-Round to my left was asleep. Since they are made of wood, they don't eat hay. I crossed over to the board walk, now made of cement and sat on a bench. In front of me was the amphitheater of volleyball, where two man volleyball had its beginning. The sun kissed me and I allowed it. A well-dressed old timer walked in my direction.
    "May I ask you if you are a regular here?'
    "Yes...name Bob...been here since 1976...from New Jersey.I own the bike shop."
     Nice to meet you. Played some volleyball with the best in the nineties...Did you know Bobby Barber? 
     Sure did...his bathing suit store was on the corner...Also knew the Hot Dog and a Stick man.
      I met him too in at the Date Harvest one summer in the Palm Springs area..Did you know Sheriff Paul?
      My best friends. Me and Sheriff rode biked down the strand together...Looks like we are the last of these to be alive.
    Bob left to help out at the bike store as a bevy of Birds, skated by.
    I took off my shoes and walked to the wooden bleachers, that faced south into the teeth of the sun. bleachers. An event was being set up on the pier. I removed my shirt and felt sad that the days on the original Muscle Beach were over...but not quite.