A Preface

"Living and Dying in Los Angeles."

A Preface: Edward

Los Angeles

February 3rd, 2024

9:30 p.m.

Edward on a break. (Me.)

1. Edward

Los Angeles

February 3rd, 2024

6:31 p.m. Sunset

A rideshare driver named Edward is in conversation with a customer, in his backseat, an attorney, though interested and engaged, cannot seem to get a word out without interruption. It is peak rush hour traffic time as they drive, slowly through the I-110 east from Culver City to Downtown as his client awaits to arrive home, residing in an apartment located inside the “HWH luxury living apartments” just off third and Main Street. The sound of Los Angeles traffic plays in their background, the swooshing noises—of cars gliding past, the screech of tires, the infectious beat of Mexican music from another car remains firmly planted in place as the sound waves bounce off the exterior of his window. The contemplative nods of the drivers, each one a silent acknowledgment of the absurdity of the deadlock situation. The guy in Edwards rearview mirror wears an expression that says, “Is this really my life?” as he carries on speaking with his passenger.

Edward: “I wonder what the Native Americans thought when Europeans started building housing and infrastructure. Perhaps it was, ‘Wow! Look at that, a bigger, stronger … hut! Get yours for the price of, fuck off!’

Attorney: “Oh…”

Edward: “I’m in my palm tree, goddamn it!’ ….‘I’ll throw my motherfuckin bamboo sticks! Keep it down!”

Attorney: “Gosh.”

Edward: “Then suddenly, the very honorable conquistadors thought of a really good idea for all the tribesmen.”

Attorney: “Yeah…”

Edward: “Hey guys, would you like to work for no pay at all? It doesn’t matter get to work! Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand! Had their plans set, after that royalty talk in the palace, the motions were to be set! Queen Isabella was all like, ‘I had a bi-sexual experience once! but that’s not important, Mr. Christopher Columbus enslave those “Taino’s” and if they resist. Kill them!’”

Attorney: “harsh....”

Edward: “They use to sell us Native Americans as slaves on Main Street! Look, what I am trying to say is that we must protect ourselves in this extraordinary land we call America. Mm our beloved United...You-Merica!"

Attorney: “I just I'm a little bit lost but..ok?”

Edward: “You know, I can’t help but wonder if that primitive gene still lingers in our minds?”

Attorney: “Say what now?”

Edward: “That gene! The primitive one.”

Attorney: “The primitive gene?”

Edward: “Evolution has its roots, and those roots just don’t disappear you know.”

Edward starts to imitate a monkey’s movement tapping on the right side of his head and shoulder, left hand on the steering wheel, pressing the accelerator as he exits the freeway, the attorney falling back into his seat.

Edward: “The gene, that just strongly calls out for ooh, ooh, ‘ahadventure’…ADVENTURE!” he screams it.

He points to the direction of his rearview mirror, index finger now pointed at the attorney. The sun setting off their distant eyes, a ray of sunlight beaming through as they exchange glances.

Edward: “Where is it that adventure?” he asks once more.

The attorney vanishes into thin air, because you see… he was never there to begin with, it was just him all alone.

Edward: “Talking to myself again, goddamnit!.”

It happens a lot during this time of night, especially after driving for twelve hours straight, six days a week, hitting every bump on the road, watching the sunset routinely, meditating on deadlock traffic. Those L.A. drives back home, I tell ya, rolling up the windows of whatever piece of shit they’ll give you this week, screaming at the top of your lungs “AHHH!” then yodeling some sort of hoo-blah, chanting, “oh lay low lay low lay” like Shakira on the song “Whenever, wherever.” Except you sing it like a blonde Dutch yodeler with a bass box in her throat.

Arriving home

The neighborhood of West Hollywood is silent tonight. It is a Monday and winter seems to be dry for drag bars, where the neon lights never turn off, providing passage for the horny, drunk and obscure. Celebrities often pass through here from they’re nest in the hills, up in Laurel Canyon, but us here, no, no, no, we are at the bottom of the fishbowl, the most indistinctive, fabulous, deep-sea creatures, just trying to make it. So, say hello to the naked man outside of your city hall, who isn’t homeless, but… your neighbor, Jim.

Edward: “Hey Jim, your robes open!”

As Edward goes on entering his worn down, two floor walk-up apartment, talking to himself, he rushes straight towards the bathroom, after closing the door, turning on the lights, letting on the shower water, watching it heat up. As the bathroom floor starts to steam, he undresses inserting himself naked, screaming due to the burning sensation of his skin from the temperature being too hot. The imaginary attorney re-appears.

Attorney: “You’re a mess kid.”

Edward: “Hey… get the fuck out!”

Attorney: “Sir, do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help you god?”

Edward: “I do, I DO! *he screams, fuck that’s hot!”

The attorney vanishes once again.

As Edward lies down in his bathtub, placing himself gently on the floor. Cuffing one hand around his sagging genitals, he asks himself one question.

Edward: “Why do they sag? If I am just thirty years old?”

Laying down slowly upon his back, allowing the shower water to hit his chest, stretching his hands into thin mid-air. He begins to relax, letting his feet rise on to the pink tiles under the showerhead, he stares at his hairy legs for a while, and about twenty minutes go by.

Water just keeps running down into a circular motion, down the drain, no need to conserve water here you’re only having the energy to do this once a week, so soak it all in, as you press your tired burdensome bones down on the hard white floor, reminding yourself not to fall through the drain, but what a lovely idea that might be.

Edward-“Ahh!”

Who are you when you’re not filtering out the chaos and motion of your day? A bright white light beaming over that wet skin of yours, with eyes closed, as you notice thirteen more minutes have gone by and you haven’t swallowed any saliva, so you do. Thoughts of soft impending doom begin lingering in that mind, imaginative scenarios of you living on the streets. Do you fear losing income? Not having a place to sleep? and ugh… the thought seems less and less pressing, like it might, relieve you at this point, but you come to your senses, shouting.

Edward: “I’m innocent!”

Perhaps you need an audience. Mr. Drama, Today was the day Edward had what I like to call an epiphany, telling himself.

If I don’t get my story out, I am going to end up in a mental institution.