I jostled down the hill allowing my calves and heels to take the gravity,
passing the house where the bald cholo always eyes me and Joyce when
we drive by. Crossing the street, I make room for two ancient Asian women
holding hands as they slowly inch up the sidewalk. Further down, I see an
old man clad in wife beater speaking to a friend, and three Hispanic men in
their 20s knocking on a door. I nod and smile at a teenage Asian boy who
is opening his gate. Moving on, I pass a halfway house emerging with drunk
panhandlers.
Crossing Cypress, a group of people are waiting at the bus station, and I can
faintly make out a cowboy hat as I quickly evade the incoming minivans. I
pass a large truck stationed for the night, its driver probably crashing early
or having a drink at the local bar ‘recreo room.’ Passing Dominos and a
check cashing store, a small soccer court comes into view. “Oh, wow!” yelled
a boy as the ball just graces outside the goal post. Then I see what appears
to be the woman I saw earlier smoking sage outside my house. Now sitting
under a tree in a blue picnic chair outside an abandoned gas station, she’s
surrounded by her things and covered in tarps
Wondering who owns the gas station and if it’s for sale, I imagine my friends
coming to late night parties in a converted gas station while smudged
out men and women try hard to sleep outside. The idea fades as I pass a
Mexican family walking into iHop for dinner. Down the street by Home Depot,
I almost get run over by a baby blue Prius that is reluctant to slow for a
jogger. Across the street into a construction zone, I pass a graffiti-covered
building that’s slated to be torn. Rounding the bend through the work site, I
notice a sharply dressed Latino man walking toward the river entry. Nodding
as I run past, I’m acutely aware of the tarped homes strung under the
overpass and hear quiet Mexican music from behind one of the temporary
tents, before I arrive into the vast opening of the river. Wide concrete cliffs
jutting in all directions, the river flows down the middle of the expanse and
small puddles line the sides. ‘So much water for such a dry spell,’ I think,
hopping over puddles and side stepping algae covered concrete. I run to
where the river opens up, and unable to pass, contemplate taking off my
shoes, before deciding to climb along a small embankment and pass over
a temporary metal bridge to the other side. A family of ducks, 8 children
waddling behind mama mallard, are obviously wary of my presence and
scurry by unscathed.
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