my neighborhood bumps with the din of Tamale Guy (West Coast Edition. He
sings a tamale cry: 10am); the horn of a man (men?) who travels the
sidewalks on the Southside of Hollywood, carts full of ice? Cream? A
slush of sorts?; children screaming/laughing/crying/hop-scotching (I
imagine) throughout the morning and afternoon. Post 9pm, it’s the
inappropriate ice cream truck, singing its song for no one but adults,
needing something very not ice cream. Post 1am, a rave blares from all
corners of the block. I never can actually witness the culprits of these
sounds; it’s just in the air, from every compass point. Between 4 and
5am, the air sleeps. Then, the sun awakens to blind us all. But I keep
my shades open for a reason. Sun awakening me from my restless
(sometimes ful) slumber is optimal to any other option.
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