Wednesday, July 18, 2007, 8:41 PM
Reggie is standing guard outside the building's front entrance, smiling against the sun's glare. I know it's not really a smile, though, because he hates having to play guard dog while the guys from Aga John's exchange the store's inventory at the end of the day.
"Lollygaggers," he tells me with sigh.
I grin at the pained look on his face. "At least it's not raining," I say.
Which is a joke because it's always sunny in Los Angeles.
As I pass by the cafe, I smell onions. In the morning, the scent of coffee reigns. All the outdoor heat lamps are shoved together at the side of the restaurant. I think they look like a group of long neck geese wearing Chinese bamboo hats.
A long car honk draws my attention and I see a 1980s Porsche going front bumper-to-bumper with a black sedan. I see the Porsche almost every day. Its color reminds me of Thousand Island salad dressing, the ketchup-mayo combination Mom used to put on my lettuce. The Porsche, non-conforming and ugly, stands out against all of the Lexuses, Acuras and Land Rovers.
The speed limit is 35 miles per hour, but cars pass by me fast enough to blow the bangs off my forehead, so I'm surprised the two cars haven't crashed into each other. The drivers glare at each other for a few more seconds before the sedan turns onto the side street with a squeal.
Eff you, it seems to say.
Giggling, I reposition my sunglasses on my nose as I walk across La Cienega Boulevard. I'm wearing pink Mary Jane sneakers, listening to Enigma on my Ipod, and enjoying my sense of freedom. Who needs a car?