beverly hills bum
BEVERLY HILLS BUM
he woke up to the sound of falling water.
where the hell am i?
last night he'd thought the fountain would be a nice place to sleep. a nice open place with trees and grass. and such a pretty fountain. a tiny island of peace surrounded by an ocean of zoom-zooming cars.
and it was. a nice place to sleep. it's just that, after all this time, he still wasn't quite used to not waking up in the same bed every morning. sometimes it's hard to let go.
he just laid there for a bit, on the concrete steps of the fountain. he just laid there, listening to the water, looking at the trees.
then he sat up. he put on his black leather jacket. the one he'd bought during his "mid-life crisis." before that bitch of a wife had taken the kids and the money and his whole world had come crashing down around him.
he absent-mindedly ran his fingers through his dirty hair and put on those cool shades he'd found a week ago behind the troubadour. they looked damn good with the leather jacket.
too bad the "i'm a bum, wanna fuck?" pick up line doesn't work so well.
he turned around to stare into the water. it was a cute little fountain someone had dreamed up. the whole bottom and sides were lined with those little tiles that looked mosaic-y. and even though the fountain was new, the tiles looked worn. then there were the weird mermaid-lookin' concrete babes holding up the other tiers of the fountain. the water shot out from the top, trickled down to the bird-bath-y second layer, and cascaded down like a waterfall.
look, a ladybug
it was in the water. struggling. drowning.
he reached in and scooped it up with his hand. it wasn't one of those pretty red and black ladybugs from the movies. it was an ugly, piss-yellow and black bug.
ha, it must be fate. must be my soulmate.
the thing was soaked. it was tiny, but left so much water behind it as it stumbled all over his hand.
he guided the thing to his other hand, and then back again to the first.
it was behaving kind of strangely. it was sort of humping the air. it would take a couple steps, stop, and hump. then repeat.
after a couple of minutes, it was partly dry and trying to fly away. the wings were still too wet, though.
it'd open up that layer of piss and pitch, and expose its tiny black wings. beneath that, its abdomen twitched. it looked suspiciously like a bee when it did that.
he knew it was a ladybug, but decided to guide the thing to his denim pant leg, just in case it decided it was a bee after all.
its wings now dry, Pee the Lady-Bee flew away.
he packed up the dingy black blanket he'd laid on last night and put on his black hat. he slung the black backpack over his right shoulder and started to walk off. he stopped a second to adjust the backpack. he bounced his backpack to move it over and up a little.
he continued to walk.
after 20 more paces he was out of the tiny park and on the sidewalk.
maybe i'll come back tonight.
he crossed doheny, leaving beverly hills and entering west hollywood.
a new day has begun.
he woke up to the sound of falling water.
where the hell am i?
last night he'd thought the fountain would be a nice place to sleep. a nice open place with trees and grass. and such a pretty fountain. a tiny island of peace surrounded by an ocean of zoom-zooming cars.
and it was. a nice place to sleep. it's just that, after all this time, he still wasn't quite used to not waking up in the same bed every morning. sometimes it's hard to let go.
he just laid there for a bit, on the concrete steps of the fountain. he just laid there, listening to the water, looking at the trees.
then he sat up. he put on his black leather jacket. the one he'd bought during his "mid-life crisis." before that bitch of a wife had taken the kids and the money and his whole world had come crashing down around him.
he absent-mindedly ran his fingers through his dirty hair and put on those cool shades he'd found a week ago behind the troubadour. they looked damn good with the leather jacket.
too bad the "i'm a bum, wanna fuck?" pick up line doesn't work so well.
he turned around to stare into the water. it was a cute little fountain someone had dreamed up. the whole bottom and sides were lined with those little tiles that looked mosaic-y. and even though the fountain was new, the tiles looked worn. then there were the weird mermaid-lookin' concrete babes holding up the other tiers of the fountain. the water shot out from the top, trickled down to the bird-bath-y second layer, and cascaded down like a waterfall.
look, a ladybug
it was in the water. struggling. drowning.
he reached in and scooped it up with his hand. it wasn't one of those pretty red and black ladybugs from the movies. it was an ugly, piss-yellow and black bug.
ha, it must be fate. must be my soulmate.
the thing was soaked. it was tiny, but left so much water behind it as it stumbled all over his hand.
he guided the thing to his other hand, and then back again to the first.
it was behaving kind of strangely. it was sort of humping the air. it would take a couple steps, stop, and hump. then repeat.
after a couple of minutes, it was partly dry and trying to fly away. the wings were still too wet, though.
it'd open up that layer of piss and pitch, and expose its tiny black wings. beneath that, its abdomen twitched. it looked suspiciously like a bee when it did that.
he knew it was a ladybug, but decided to guide the thing to his denim pant leg, just in case it decided it was a bee after all.
its wings now dry, Pee the Lady-Bee flew away.
he packed up the dingy black blanket he'd laid on last night and put on his black hat. he slung the black backpack over his right shoulder and started to walk off. he stopped a second to adjust the backpack. he bounced his backpack to move it over and up a little.
he continued to walk.
after 20 more paces he was out of the tiny park and on the sidewalk.
maybe i'll come back tonight.
he crossed doheny, leaving beverly hills and entering west hollywood.
a new day has begun.