Oh the people you will see

There’s a culture that exist on the bridge.  That’s something my circle became aware of almost immediately.  We learned that there are really an amount of archetypes that you see at nowhere :

  1.  The people who live there.  There are folks who live there full time and part time. The full time individuals live in the river itself (under the bridge dwellers) they apparently hold a lot of rivalry with those that are above  (these individuals are another story which we’ll get around to).
  2. Those that go there daily.  From the lady we see jogging with her dog. To the people we see commuting to and from work.   They know us by now and give us a nod. We’ve come up with names for them there was a guy we saw wearing a work shirt…”zinc Caffè ” so we started calling him zinc.  On one occasion we saw him by the bridge hanging out with a friend…early on it dawned on us that we both knew each other…we kept calling him “zinc” and he never corrected us
  3. Tourist.  Tourist have no shame. They will take photos and video of you even if you’re looking. They come and like a thief in the night they take off. They stand right next to you..lingering smoke haze and all…their time at nowhere is limited and they know it. They don’t know if they’re going to see this place again since it’s scheduled for demolition for a hyperspace bypass (you’ve got to build bypasses)
  4. Bootyographia (or booty shots)…more on this later
  5. Filming. ..now this actually required a sub section itself. ..more on that later
  6. Artist (instrument players and people who have canvasses. ..sort of rare)
  7. Instagram meets ups…about fifteen…twenty people show up and they hang around for a few minutes…the most attractive female will generally loosen her clothes as the guys take photos of her leaning on an arch…these guys are annoying.  Suddenly you and everything you’ve got if theirs to photograph
  8. Photographers….the ones that take time lapse photos are horrible.  They just stand there a slave to their cameras
  9. Depressed suicidal types (these do happen and we try to help)
  10. People that know the power of an awesome view. ..us…a few others we bump into. They show up and mingle. ..share a story or two and go about their way.  We’re all just temporarily United by this area
  11. Racers…dangerous fucks. They speed down the bridge. ..midlife crisis types with no regard for human life..sometimes we call 911 when they crash. .more on that later
  12. The homeless
  13. “Walkers” staggering drunks trying to get home…sometimes they’re dressed up like army guys …more on that later
  14. Gangsters….hardly
  15. Skaters (more common) we call them “mighty duck fucks”
  16. Tours…this group sometimes host what they call a “taco tour” a brown skinned individual plays Harriet Tubman and he takes lighters skinned individuals on bikes safely to the east side to various taco establishments. ..they all stand at and pose at nowhere. ..their guide will then graffiti a stencil..more on them later
  17. The lost and bewildered. ..there was an opera once. ..more on that later

And there’s your cast of characters

BTW. ..we call ourselves “the guardians of the eastside” ….more on that later

Genesis

It’s a cold morning and I’m tired.  Having just got off a greyhound bus in downtown I decide I’m close enough and tired of sitting enough to just walk home and pass out.  I reach into my bag and I pull out a coffee thermos which contains my pipe and cannabis (I carried it this way during my trip and no one suspected).

I’ve just had a long introspective trip. Which doesn’t seem to be ready to let go despite me being back on familiar territory.  The meaning of the whole trip was some sort of closure. In my bag just now carry ashes from someone I was close to…loved…placed inside a pain relief bottle. ..on my right wrist I have a  bracelet I am told belonged to him.  I made a promise to the person who ultimately sent me packing that I would continue to wear it. The whole trip was to find out who he was. Having spent time with his partner (the same one who had to elect to take him off life support) and now having something tangible of this person I never met.  I wonder what to make of myself now.  I wasn’t able to talk to my friends about him since I was really the only person who ever talked to him, having spent a few days sharing stories with his partner and being told by him that whatever relationship I and he had matters seems to have lifted a weight off my shoulders.  People can always tell when something inside them has changed. 

Such are the thoughts and experiences I carry with me while I’m crossing the bridge home.  Having lived in boyle heights  85 percent of my life I know it like the back of an appendage.  When my mother would take me with her to the office since she couldn’t find a sitter,  I rode the same business route I currently do to work. The bridge was always a sign I was close to home.

I stand on the spot I would later call “nowhere” and for the first time I see beauty. Before anyone and anything that would come, before city demolition plans and Jewish friends and penis games bootyographia and car crashes there’s me and my grief slowly leaving me. I’m home. I made it. I’m nowhere.