Los Angeles, 1980, hot summer near La  Brea and Washington Blv.

Street asphalt softens as the sun melts it.

Tried walking to the liquor store across the street.

Used to the heat, launching a run bare footed seems normal to me.

One, two or three meters were enough to stop and return.

My studio apartment, an oasis of cool floor and shade, pulls me back.

Sandals on, I embarked once again.

As I cross the hot, melting black asphalt,

an Old English beer truck pulls in to the driveway.

The truck driver’s blue eyes staring at me, safely parks.

I’m off the street and onto the sidewalk.

A young couple, boom box on shoulder, walking by saluted “Hola Amigo”.

Rick James’ beat fades off  their tape recorder in the distance.

A group of Mexican land scapers get their water and soft drinks.

The Korean merchant communicating in broken Spanish is busy.

The land scape workers are in a hurry to their beach residences work sites.

As they depart, their truck radio plays Vicente Fernandez’s “El hombre que más te amó”.

I get La Opinión news paper, a Fanta soda, and  I crossed the black smoking tart road again.

Blue clear sky and hot weather sent me packing for our favorite beach in El Segundo.

Ready in my Opel station wagon, I drove pass La Brea into my new city.

Blue, fresh water of the Pacific Ocean is my destination.

I loved my new city then!

Tio & Boys 2007

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