The rain fell hard and the wind blew cold… And they say it never rains in Southern California. I made the same mistake I made the year before in New York City..I didn’t bring a jacket. I was wet-soaked from head to toe. And I still had a long way to walk.
Before it started raining I had parked far away and headed for the public fountain. I figured I could do some thinking there. Maybe write something worth reading… at least worth writing. Of course now my notebook, dripping, was as good as trash. But I held onto it just in case.
If there’s one problem with LA it’s traffic and therefore parking. You would think it would lead to a more intellectual life-style, everyone having an extra hour to think. But you’re much more likely to run into a would-be artist trying to “make it” but having no idea what that means. Or you’ll see tourists who hope to see someone who’s already “made it.” Equally delusional but at least the tourists have disposable cash and in one way or another, that’s exactly what they do with it. Me? I was just trying to “make it” out of the rain.
As I walked I saw a beautiful girl. It’s true that some people look better wet. But some don’t. I came to a crosswalk, I felt like Jay-walking, but I figured people in LA are already bad drivers, add water to the mix and that’s how people die. So I leaned by the pole, hoping the light would either change soon or somehow the pole would give me some kind of shelter. It didn’t.
I looked around… Where did everyone get umbrellas from? It didn’t look like rain earlier, and who in Los Angeles just carries one around?
The walk was longer than I remembered. I hid in a little alcove in front of a business for a while. There were a couple of vagrants there, one of them, a girl, had a smile that could put the planets out of line. I didn’t stay there long. Somehow I got the feeling they felt bad for me?
I walked and walked. I thought about jazz. And I thought about Virginia. I thought about Rimbaud and the I-10 highway. I thought about a lot of things.
I wondered if I forgot where I parked. Or what if my car was towed?
… I saw the car. A sun-dried red Jeep. I felt a sigh of relief as a weight fell from my shoulders. I reached in my pocket… I pulled at the door… I checked my pocket… I pulled at the door… I had left my keys all the way back by the fountain.
It’s true what they say, it never rains in Southern California. But man, it pours.