I heard about the fire in DTLA a little later than I'd have liked. I was up that night and were my view not obscured from the freeway overpass that divides my neighborhood, the light from the fire would have certainly reached my window from across the river, notifying me. I often regret missing a fun photo opportunity, but the sting is especially acute when I learn that I was so close by to one, unawares, and likely very bored at the time. Due to the time that I learned of it and work constrictions I didn't get to make it to the scene until about thirty hours after the incident, at which point I was deterred by security, pigs, and FDLA at all angles. I was far too late and they were letting no one near the destruction. The best I could muster was climbing to the top of an adjacent parking garage and snapping a couple of photos, from a distance, of the two derelict stairwells that remained standing after the blaze.
Before riding my bike downtown I'd left my hotel room (SRO) in sort of a headache-y daze. I'm a notable wimp when it comes to bright light. Having accidentally crushed my sunglasses in my backpack the night before, I was forced to walk two grueling blocks in the day sun to Sun (ha) Market, a bodega run by an old Chinese couple near my place. Dusting off a very stylish pair of shades from a neglected rack near their front counter ($4.00!!), I felt satisfied with my purchase as I left. Immediately as I exited the market, a few feet to my right a prostitute who I see around sometimes hollered some unintelligible gobbledegook at her pimp or john or maybe a random stranger. He responded with a hard backhand across her mouth. The hysterics temporarily abated as I passed, and on my way to retrieve my bicycle I found myself pondering the levels of abuse people will tolerate in their own lives. Not just on the receiving end, but the willingness to participate in the exchange of abuses as well. Surely it must damage the psyche or the soul to just hit a woman on the street in broad daylight. I can't imagine what would incense me enough to make that leap. Only now though, a few days after witnessing those people in front of the market am I feeling sorry for them. I've read that lack of immediate compassion for others is a sign of depression, but I dunno, I don't feel sad. Maybe I'm just worn down, unsure what matters anymore. I bet they were arguing about money.
Anyway. My new shades look great.
