Extraordinary stories from everyday life on the edge of the world

Stories

the best thing about us is the people we know.
 

Main Street // Monday, 1.32pm

vscocam440 There's a little red pot with a basil plant in it, next to a medium-sized yellow pot with a tomato plant in it. Together they occupy the windowsill of a third-floor apartment on Main Street, just under the roseate stained glass windows. They share the narrow square of visibility with an antique Frigidaire, an electric fan, and a sofa covered in threadbare blue plaid.

The thrift store seems to have new stock every single day I come down here...today it's a wire basket chair and two antique bicycles, one red, one blue.

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It's a sunny day, the sky that ashy blue color that makes it seem warmer than it is. People are out, in combinations I could never predict--a young man with a gold-plated grill and the dog-eared tag still attached to his 501s shares the street with a Hindenberg-sized woman with fastidiously hennaed hair, a neon pink tunic, and sunglasses the size of dinner plates.

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There's a friendly pair working the counter at Coffee Hound today--a girl with freckles and a cloud of carrot-hued hair, a guy with pretty eyes and glasses that make him look like a baby owl. Their friendliness convinces me that my last visit to the Hound could have been a fluke, brought on by bad weather on a Saturday morning. I worked in coffee long enough that I still remember those mornings.

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The TeleCourier tower, looming behind the 1884 building, gooses the street's stodgy decorum with something between the needful nuisance of technology and the vainglory of LA's Watts Towers.

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I'm thinking of what Jared said yesterday--if some collaborative artistic revolution is going to start, why not here? There are worse places.