How insignificant it is this harsh reality, blending amplifies the noises.
9:00 p.m. where does it all come from? Upstairs in my apartment, number Twenty-Nine it was my birthday and this month I turned Twenty-Nine. Yes, it is quite the life existing in this no ordinary town. A hidden flat-wedged neighborhood made up from a large Hispanic Demographic. I live under the radar not minding most of my days spent hard working in a professional atmosphere as a translator for powerful L.A. Attorneys, who electrify a great portion of most of the high rise building in all of Downtown, Los Angeles. I keep a private life and often find myself sitting here at my desk typing away on my keyboard in front of this computer screen. A quiet life, unless I'm shutting out all the exterior pollution. All the freeway traffic nearby rushing it's anthem through my window.
Slam!
I shut it all out, all the noise here in Frog town, makes me want to scream and shout out. It's probably those Ska Rats, that's who causes all the racket. In the eighties there use be another street gang. I think the name was 'The Frog town Gang'. It is said, the gang named themselves after this dingy town. Who cares, no matter what you have to put up with, the charm of Frog town will always get you in the end. It's dubbed Frog town for a reason, but the name will never show up on any county map. Blame it on the reservoir sewer frogs who inhabit the night with their croaking.
Swoosh! The curtains close.
Learning the history of this place is just how I came to know it. Guess that's why there's a heavy presence of police patrolling the area. What you will not forget as you pass by is our every underlining wall that runs along the freeway, beautifully gentrified by a community action team. In the meantime, because that is how he operates Aztec Boy Wonder calls again through my instant messenger. I wonder what is an Aztec Boy Wonder?
AztecBoyWonder: Come on!
Interpret_her: What is it?
AztecBoyWonder: Let's get out! I'm Bored.
Interpret_her: Sorry, not tonight. I have to much work to do.
AztecBoyWonder: Great! I'll be right over.
Loud whistles snap me to focus from the work at hand. My boiling teapot outburst it's demands of attention, as I get up to shut off the flame, the front door bell rings. Who is it? I say, through the door.
"Yeah, Chica we have a great chemistry. Yeah, not interested, but would you please open the door." Eloy says,
His name is Eloy, and on any other night I would be glad to hear from him. I open the door, and he tears through the apartment like a hyped up storm, heading right to the living room, plopping himself down on my comfy living room sofa. This is the normal routine for a night on the town. I refuse to admit to him that I would rather stay held up here in my buttoned down lifestyle.
Monday night and we walk not drive. No grungy band in the city to put on a cheap 2 buck chuck at one of our favorite local hang-outs. What was the alternative stay home, not having a life. Yet again, he has weaseled his way into getting me out and about. We are walking down Ripple Street and pass a lousy strip joint not far from my home. I know he's curious about all the action. He turns his head to me and smiles. "Do you wanna check it out?" pointing to the joint. I pass I say, and give him a rain check. We make a pit stop at the corner of Everest. I grin by the vision before my very eyes. I spot an Hispanic Man pushing his Ice-Cream cart announcing his business with his bicycle horn. That is a tacky thing to do, isn't it? Making my remark after the man makes it across the street. I'm not a complete idiot. I turn to Eloy who has hardly even noticed the ice cream man, expecting a response. "What's tacky is that you would judge a person who is clearly trying to make a living." He says. I respond to the attitude with Wait a minute! Eloy interrupts with "Ashamed of your heritage much?" saying with a shaking of his head. Further up the street there are two Ska Rats who I notice who seem to be approaching us. "You see this is what I don't get. Are you a Hispanic? He says. Preoccupied with what the ska rats are doing I respond with a shout out of, what!? He keeps up with his rant. "Could be the way you speak. Sorry, but no one speaks like a Spaniard. You know the English speaking kind. I tell you what screw the Spanglish. Are you a Mexican?" For a moment there I though he was someone else. He usually never speaks to me with this tone and just when I think he's done, he says. "Yes or No are you a Mexican?" He leans his head to one side. Of course, is my response to him. Next thing we know I'm being tapped on the shoulder by one of the Ska Rats saying, "Ahh, a nasty lovers quarrel!" interrupting our conversation. "Don't they look cute, Diego?" Diego responds with a "¡Sí!" to the first, smirking it off.
Instantly Eloy brushes me off to the side with his shoulder, puffs up his chest at both Ska Rats and says, "Do you think this is cute, Diego?" waving his hand at them to come a little closer. The lead rat turns his creepy mask to the other and turns back to Eloy. "Mind your own beeswax, and take your cheesy looking friend with you to!" Eloy says, giving the Ska Rat a rough tug to his green collared flannelled shirt. Both Skater Rats thrash against Eloy in return knocking him to the ground. Immediately Eloy cries out to me for help. "Let's Go Diego, de bolada!" both jumping on their skateboards leaving the scene, whooping it up. The smell of the stench leaves behind a trail. Their attitude is exactly what I was trying to explain, beginning with the Ice Cream man, never expecting those smelly rats to turn up and prove my point. Alright, I won't screw the Hispanic. Let's get up! I say to Eloy as I reach for his arm "Ouch!" Eloy whines in discomfort.
Sorry are you alright?
"No, I think he broke my foot!" At this point in the conversation... I don't think he is hurt too bad, if I know Eloy at all.
Do you feel pain when you move your foot?
"Yes!" he responds
How about your toes can you count them?
"No. He says abruptly with a rolling of the eyes and running his fingers through his hair."
Good then I'll sit right over here, till you think you're okay to move it about.
"I'm telling you. I can't! Move what about? My foot?"
I feel like rolling my eyes and I say, foot isn't broken. It's only a sprain. Please don't make me call an ambulance. Promise, you can use me as a crutch the rest of the way home.
( Copyright © 2013 April 'Espinola' Delgado. All rights reserved.)
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