July 08, 2008


To reconfigure Agee: We are talking now of summer evenings in Los Angeles, California, in the time that I lived there so successfully disguised to myself an adult.

On a rooftop with young things getting older, a birthday with no birthday cake--them: strangers all 'cept the friend that brought me. I don't know what direction I was facing but in front I was in a deep gris-grit valley of downtown, the mecca's non-mecca, the buildings ahead sloped up towards the peak point in the center. Mountain of downtown was ahead, and to the starboard, industrial lofts turned luxury living; third floor two young children cross legged in footed jammies glowed up by an apparently massive TV beyond my view; ground floor was someone who found purchase in a tent pitched in from the curb. The friend was couseling a girl who wants to go find her people outside of LA because there is too much punk here. "Are you intimidated by punk?" I asked. She was incredulous and seemed to be offended at the suggestion, so I took that as a yes and wandered off to scout out the other birthday party's cake. They were playing that Hercules disco epic and had half a cake left, I wanted to be at theirs instead, but I don't know "Can I eat some of this cake?" in Spanish. That is what I wanted from this LA night, with the gaping abysm between have and have not so casual and naked below us, I wanted the sybarite abandon, that experience of the full LA-ness; I wanted the cake, the disco, the strangers.

Instead I went down a flight into the empty apartment of the hosts, refilled my glass from the tap and hung out with the cat, nabbed the end of some french bread and checked their pro-style kitchen appliances and restaurant grade Wolf™ stove. Dave rang "Where are you?". "Peeing" I lied. Saying "Hanging out in their apartment checking out the massive flame on their stove," sounds a little psycho. Upon my return to the roof, the footie kids were gone and their TV off, so I busied myself with seeing how far I could spit water into the parking lot below. I ended up hitting a car with a big NASA logo on the hood. "That car has probably been on the moon!" said Dave.

Posted by Jessica at July 8, 2008 03:03 AM | TrackBack