It’s Wednesday evening now, and the question is, just what to do next? There’s this comfortable seat I find myself in, but I wonder to myself: have I grown too attached to it? Surely there’s a better seat elsewhere.
Suddenly I think to myself that I haven’t looked up at the sky to simply gaze at the stars in ages…
JIMBO TIMES is changing; as the days go on, the life-force that the town has been is shifting forms. It’s been stranger in some way. Or maybe I’ve been the stranger.
To be sure, Los Angeles is still a gift, but I look around for a moment and somehow feel like The City is trapped inside of its own concrete, in need of rescue from sweltering heat overhead and ringing commotion all around.
I tell myself to remain committed to the place and the people I come from, but I can’t help but think about how I’ve placed myself here, and how I can still place myself elsewhere, anywhere else.
Maybe it’s just work as of late, the routine.
But today I broke with routines. For one, I didn’t have a cup of coffee in the morning, nor even feel the need. And for another, I took mom out for an evening meal after work. We ordered our plate to go, and headed out to the park.
After circling around for ages looking for a spot to station our ride, finally I just didn’t care anymore. Parking enforcement be damned, we needed our dinner, so I left the car in the red somewhere.
Our plate was delicious, and the breeze at the park liberated and refreshed our spirits. I also realized something there: I have to get back to walking through The City.
When I’m driving everywhere, I’m just missing it all in a blur. There are too many traffic lights to obey, too many other cars waiting behind me (and in front of me, and next to me), too many pedestrians trying to cross, and more.
But it’s when I walk through Los Angeles that I’m truly connected to its pulse. It’s when I’m on the bus that I meet all of its characters, and when I’m on the Subway that I gauge L.A.’s vibrant, absurd features behind the scenes.
I suppose that walking The City lately hasn’t been ideal, however. The air’s been blaring with so much heat that after even a minute under the sunlight I find myself retreating to find an air conditioning room, anywhere, anyhow, thank you.
The summer nights are beautiful, but the workdays filled with warmth can be long, exasperating deliriums that just barely leave when they finally melt into the evening.
The sunrises in the summer are also beautiful; the sky is just a faint whisper cradling The City before the hustle and bustle of the morning, while the light is a promise, distantly promising just enough.
Even so, I think to myself, if it’s all still so great why does it still feel like I haven’t seen the stars in ages?
I leave my seat and step out of the scene for a moment to finally look up with purpose again, when it hits me: there’s a blanket of smog covering the night sky. If I’m going to find any stars, I’m going to have to look around elsewhere.