Glimpses of Lives

April Third

Another one of those blank days. Nothing occurs. It dissuades you from writing. I do it anyway. Larry, in the Razor's Edge, pains me in his will to do what he pleases without succumbing to the guilt of disappointing the desires others have for him. It gets boring though when the narration deals with his social life in Paris.
Blech. On the way home I drove through the Del Taco on Santa Monica and Highland. Two punks were making out behind the restaurant. Pure Santa Monica Boulevard. One was a flabby shirtless skinhead, covered with tatoos. The uniformed security guard turned his back. Whatever. I ate half my burrito and threw it away.

I enjoy walking in the early evening, admiring the variety of residential architecture in LA, Spanish, Victorian, Modern, Gothic, Craftsman, Cape Cod--I love the ones with big balconies, some have second story decks that run all the way around the house, even the first floor porches look like great places to have a lemonade and read and write. I like looking through the windows as I walk by and catching glimpses of peoples' lives, the art on their walls, the arrangements of furniture, what's on TV, smelling the food cooking, the BBQ, the stir fry.