Date: 2005-11-08, 11:42AM
Found this in the missed connections section which I am so fond of reading while I should be working.enjoy.
Scott.
You: Riding your bike down Olympic during rush hour.
Me: Nasa cap wearing commuter cheering you on from the interior of my transport bubble!
You: Amazing creature.
Me: Standing and applauding your tenacity, bravery, and enviromental friendliness. Or is it a case of frugalness? Maybe just effectiveness. Whatever the motivation. Your behavior riveted my stuck-in-traffic-listening-to-All-Things-Considered attention. LA radio sucks. I need to get Sirius.
Well enough with the compliments and asides-on with the story. Included herein: personal character flaws, like shyness, driving during rush hour, bitterness, and a sense of betrayal . And remember that little bit of PR in the tagline: synchronous events (not one but two) are in your future!
I first noticed you riding your ten-speed East on Olympic. At first I was like, this has got to be some homeless tweaker bitch fucking up rush hour and had no where really to go. Then I saw the ass-light, blinking red from that cute little dunk undulating in the swaying headlights of the car behind you. Wow, safe and legal. I never use my ass-light. I feel too much like a dork, but you were motoring right in the middle of the lane-a little like the tweaker above, but more I came to realize, like the serious biker you are trying to haul ass to your destination, no bullshit, your strategic riding caused you to pull way ahead of me several times. Of course slipping in and out of the assholes on Olympic riding up to the lights and hitting the green hard and pulling forward. That's the way to do it girl. I ride in rush hour once in a while and I know you just gotta take your advantage when you can. Enough of this B.O.B. I was actually entertained by your journey and rooting for yo
u. But
of course if you pulled too far ahead I could not see you. Blast, evil traffic--the cause and structure of the arc of our drama. Finally I passed you.
Radiant.
Thin and blonde and clad from neck to mid-calf (pant leg pulled up to avaid chain-age) in black. Curvy and cute, your hair pulled back in a pony-tail. Wow. I was smitten. Though I could not see your eyes, I know there was determination there, a hint of anger and the twinkle of victory.
I can't look long because the bastard in front of me has jammed his brakes, and whoosh ahead you pull. Staring ahead to see your progress I notice the beat up Escort has some out of state plates (probably Washington now that I think of it) with the word OLYPIAN. Yes my darling you were my slick OLYPIAN sliding through traffic down Olympic. Now I always take note of these events, we call them COINCIDENCE. One thing relates to another (yes the vanity plate was refering to olympian as in on who particpates in the Olympics or one who lives in Olympia) and of course Olympic was named in honor of the 1932 Olympics in Los Angeles. So this is just as I saw COINCIDENCE (keep reading Sychronicity still ahead).
I pass you finally three times. I lose you somewhere around Fairfax, which is good, because I blew a couple red lights in my furor to find you and I was worried about how you would make it through that long crazy intersection, too many lights to many crossing streets, a distracting Starbucks. I was sad, but I was making great time now to my appointment in Los Feliz.
As it would come to pass I was way early for my appointment, my appoinmentee was running late so I killed some time at Soap Plant, Wacko, La Luz de Jesus Gallery. It like a potato gun of stuff packed to bursting ready to exploded wackiness and underground art all over your face. I like the place don't make it there enough. So the rude-yet-o-so-hip clerk yells for us to bring our purchases to the front and leave. As I walk up I see a blond, cute and thin and dressed in black and I think. They must be everywhere. She's talking in a very familiar way to the rude-yet-o-so-hip clerk. Probably an S.O. Cool. But I happen to flash a look back in the door to verify your cuteness (Okay I was checking out your ass) and okay here's where my brain exploded just a little bit. ASS-LIGHT!!!
Yeah. No. What the fuck. The cosmos is fucking with me. Fuck you cosmos. Fuck you in the fucking ass fucking piece of shit cosmos. It is my Olympic Racer. Hot as ever and pant lowered to proper ankle length. But of course her body language said. "i'm talking to someone I really care about" so I didn't approach, because I was too shy, and I was glad I didn't go with my impulse to shout out my window earlier, I was glad I didn'y honk flash my highbeams or any other drawing of attention. That's just my bullshit shyness, but also in this case, well I did see her again. Fuck. O well. So this is the where SYNCHRONCITY resides. I looked for her bike. Locked up there right in front of Soap Plant, Wacko, La Luz de Jesus Gallery. And this is where my brian threw up on itself. This is where reality became a reality show, this is where all the acid and mushrooms loomed there ugly flashbacks. The model of bike she was riding...
Just guess...
Go ahead...
Yeah.
Olympic.
Fuck me.
At that moment I felt that the universe wanted me to come in there and sweep you off your feet and take you away from the torment of a 10.27 mile ride. Take you away from that clerk. When the store was finally closed I saw the two of you walk off arm-in-arm-arm-in-bike. The cosmos mocks me. But alas...
I recognize your soul. Really. I love to ride in traffic- the glory, the pain, the physical, emotional and spiritual satisfaction. I know. I understand.
this is my MC. I am drained.
Of course as I finished meeting with my writing partner, around midnight, I think I saw your ghost again. Smoking a cigarrette behind the restaurant at the north west corner of Vermont and Melbourne. My Olympic Racer, I think I could love you.
1 comment:
She's all wrong for you, dude. She's into snotty hipsters.
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