Here's to a strong weekend

I've got some stuff on my plate, starting in about an hour.
But first:
Two night ago I got off work, drank some beers and had some conversations before crossing over the void through the darkness via Metro public transportation. There's select individuals who ride the LA city buses after 1 am, and most of them friendly if you don't look them in the eyes for too long. Sitting on cold concrete, city fog was blowing overhead I had a long conversation with a sound engineer who turned out to be a homeless boy named Greg. Heavily informed about the music industry, I could tell he spent his life not doing exactly what he wanted. Now he's working his way up. Dreamin big.
Getting on the bus, a drunk Mexican guy with tattoos for sleeves kept grinning and punching me across the shoulder, saying "white boy's got a big dick swingin!" over and over. I found it amusing, and went along with his catch phrase. He made me say "big dick swingin!" to the bus driver as I was stepping on, putting money in the change box. He reassured me that she was all cool with it, so I said it to her sheepishly, and surprisingly she smiled wide-eyed with a "you crazy!" and let me on. a priceless middle-of-night moment.

The journey between innercities is a dark luxury. Like unadulterated chocolate so heavy in cacao it gives you an ache in your neck. I sat there, soaking in the Los Angeles fever of night. Next to me a homeless man with big eyeballs found something interesting in me to look at. Across the seat a wild fallen Armenian woman dressed in tight black slacks with a sweaty face was holding out a twenty "scuse..scuse me.." she was talking to me "change for twenty? change.." I said no and looked away, knowing I had a wad of tips in my backpack from my work shift that night. Disclosing such a treasure trove would surely result in my immediate mugging,
as we ventured over the river Styx.
Pasadena rolled into view; the closer I got to the shopping mall and downtown, the eeking more lightness my heart lifted.. til I saluted the driver and stepped off the bus for an effort and jaunt to my front door, into the apartment complex, threw my stuff on the and enjoyed returning home once more.

Waking up, I almost didn't remember the prior night like a long dream that you barely can't recall. I walked around town for a bit, drank some coffee, did my thing, and called Dan. We were supposed to go to Joshua Tree for the day (it being Thursday) but we'd both slept in far beyond the departure time. I asked if he was down for a bike ride.
Next thing you know, it was afternoon and I was rolling in my Kia (Misty) between trucks and brake lights on the freeway, cursing the terrifically bad drivers of Eastern Los Angeles. I sometimes wonder if I'm the only person out there who weavingly refuses to tolerate random braking and stopping. It's far too common to watch a car brake and slow when traffic is otherwise steady.
I get to Dan's, in wonderful Claremont. There really are different worlds here. In the newer Zelda games (by Nintendo) you travel briefly between these massively different environments, so that one minute you're climbing the peak of Death Mountain and the next you're in the squalor of Hyrule Castle city, and the next you're dancing with green fairy folk in a particle-driven forest glen. Los Angeles is a Zelda game. Think of this: one evening you're waiting amongst crowded bus lines between skyscrapers, next morning you're walking a dirt trail in the tree-lined country hamlet beneath the mountains. There is every climate of human blowing between, and you've never earned all the pieces of heart or bombed every secret wall... there is much journeying to be done, and it's all within reach. Your horse might not start all the time, but there are trains and buses and friends to get you to your next level. It's not a city, it's a land. For some a playground, for me it's a journey. and I'm trapsing my own trail through the foliage of each passing moment. Ah Los Angeles.

As I pull up to Dan's cottage by the trees, smelling of sweet jasmine and kitty litter, he was pissed because he'd lost his gloves. But in 5 minutes we were careening on our bicycles, singing through our throats to the setting day and feeling like children once more! In swift intensity, we climed the long Mountain Ave, up the steep incline till we reached the trail head that would take us into the uncharted fields of lower Mt. Baldy. The amazing thing about having a bike is the pure natural freedom you may attain from it. It becomes an extension of yourself, allowing you access to places your feet nor horse could take you.
So we spend 2 hours exploring, hiking, riding over dismantled riverbeds and around the occasional jogger. It was an exhilirating match with the setting Sun, and we barely survived.

I'm excited to see what this colorful world tosses at me next. I mean, I do already have an agenda.