Yesterday, I hopped on the Los Angeles Metro Rail and headed to downtown. No one does this in LA, methinks because it involves walking, but there I was, 1:00pm, smack dab in the center of this city's most awe-inspiring architecture, surrounded by fellow Angelians and their rushrushrush, downtowny vibe.

I popped in to the LA Library and was blown on my ass by the sheer mass and size; I strolled through the lobby of The Standard Hotel to witness poseurs shooting pool and foosball. Up and down the streets I walked, an overcast sky above.

Shit, those are TWO things that never happen here.

I jumped back on the train and slid off at Hollywood and Vine, grabbing something to eat and a beer at The Pig n' Whistle on Hollywood Blvd. There I met Greer and Ellen, visiting from Scotland. We chatted up a fucking storm, and those old nutters matched me drink for drink, insisting that I invest in a home in their small town and renting it out. It sure got me thinking...

Afterward, I head to The Powerhouse bar, a little hole in the wall that gets infested by Hollywood dickheads on weekend nights. Usually. Last night was different, boy: 90% of the crowd consisted of people heading up Cahuenga to the Hollywood Bowl to witness the epic, musical experience, Journey . Needless to say, when "Don't Stop Believin'" came on the juke, the place went apeshit, myself included.

A poem, about one of my downtown sights:

OUTSIDE THE LOS ANGELES PUBLIC LIBRARY

The fat, bald black man
asks me for 4o cents.

As I drop my last quarter
into his opened, calloused paw
I see a wrapped condom resting in it

and think

things sure are looking
up for you

pal.