Drift
Tuesday, 1:37pm - Fall, 2008 - I’m standing on the corner of Hollywood Blvd and Sierra Bonita. Forty-five minutes ago I ate a magical turkey sandwich from Subway. I’ve been unemployed for 4 months. I’ve flown to New York, rode the Greyhound to Memphis, stood on the Grassy Knoll on a 100 degree day, got drunk in Santa Fe with a Vietnam veteran, roamed around LA playing photographer with no intention. The Bush theocracy is about to end. Obama is the new Elvis.
The warm LA sunshine beats down down on me as I look around, contemplating where this afternoon walk will take me. Just as I catch a scene, "Running With the Devil" skips onto my iPod.
i found the simple life ain't so simple/when i jumped out, on that road
i got no love, no love you'd call real/ain't got nobody, waitin' at home
It's time to go. The velocity of Los Angeles has caught up to me. I’ve reached the fork in the road. I have to leave. A sting of nostalgia. The weird trip, the break from home. The rolls of film, and abandoned screenplays. Too much to take in, I drift, leaving, snapping, coasting along, meditating on the Boulevard, as I did the other day.