ABBA IN SPANISH

Last night I went to a birthday party with Coco in Marina Del Rey. When I returned to Silverlake around 1:30am the apartment was still filled with heat from the late afternoon. After letting Jonah, our roommate & cat, out I left the front door open while the metal gate was locked tight.


meow on the move: Jonah Cat

I always thought having a metal gate on my front door would be a depressing reminder that I live in a low-income neighborhood, making me feel trapped. On the contrary I've found it very liberating because I can have the cool night air enter the apartment without the worry an intruder would do the same.

I winded down the evening with the usual rituals of teeth brushing, glasses of water, etc. This is a tranquil time for me where all the worries of the day are put aside because all that is required of me is sleep. (I'm a big fan of sleep--it's one of my favorite hobbies.) This precious time was suddenly interrupted by music coming from the direction of the front door. It got loud quickly—middle of the day loud let alone 2am loud. The arrogance of such an act was unsettling and made me worry for Jonah. As I approached the gate he was there waiting to be let in (a street hustler knows crazy) and I did so swiftly. I followed by shutting the front door loud enough so whoever was lurking in the dark below could here. At which point Coco remarked, "How weird someone would be playing a boom box at the bottom of our steps." I replied, "How weird they would be playing ABBA in Spanish."

Today as I left the house for a late breakfast I found flies huddled on top of curious mass at the bottom of our steps. It looked like a cross between a dead snail and raw shrimp and had been baking in morning sun leaving a reddish residue on the cement. The whole thing echoed Spanish ABBA. Shit is weird.