i have to admit, thursdays are starting to grow on me.
there’s corn chowder steaming in a bowl and two slices of rosemary bread with a dab of soft butter. there’s the LA weekly fresh off the press and free postcards for the taking. there’s people watching and artwork analyzing, all against the backdrop of orange sponge painted walls. it’s nice to know there are still some places i can go that feel like mine.
there’s high school kids, in all their glorious awkward beauty. the shy quiet boy who sits in the corner watching the rest of the room. the take charge girl who you can count on to get things done. the crew of loudmouths who think they’re so funny and, admittedly, are. i try to remain calm and serious, but inside i am laughing, and i leave the youth center smiling without even realizing.
there’s the drive down wilshire boulevard, and it looks so much different at that time of night, the road lined with muted store window lighting and no other cars in sight. it looks different yet familiar, because i know this place, i’ve driven this way everyday. it’s the way home.