Thursday, November 25, 2021

Thanksgiving Morning

Sitting at the Starbucks Reserve, Mohawk Street and Sunset. A homeless guy walks by. He has a full shopping cart, a navy suitcase inside, a fully stuffed blue plastic garbage bag tied to something like a broom handle. He wears an olive green stocking cap pulled down over his shoulder length blonde hair and a buttoned-up short sleeved shirt, a la Paul Frank. Attractive, young. He looks up and makes eye contact with the tattooed girl in a tank top at the table next to me. I can tell she is watching him behind her heart shaped ombre sunglasses. He looks from her to me and I try to meet his gaze as I would anyone else’s, but I can’t, I look away. Without the shopping cart he would be like any other hipster here in Echo Park. Actually, no, he would be better looking. He would be received anywhere in LA as attractive and young. That would be all. Without the shopping cart. Instead, I see now that he has parked his shopping cart just passed this Starbucks patio and has put pillows down on the sidewalk. He sits on them, talking to himself, eating something out of white butcher paper, a deli sandwich it seems. Finished with his meal, he moves his navy suitcase next to his pillows and stretches his legs out long over the hard case. He reaches up and pulls on a low palm frond and it bobs up and down like a Pharaoh’s fan. 

Nearby, a teeny tiny dog in a sweater is being hand fed bits of sous vide eggs, his owner trailing after him as he walks freely. She leans down to deliver each bite to his waiting lips. The dog quivers in his sweater, whether from the cool morning air or from overbreeding. He lifts his leg and pees on the patio.