a million moths.

along nearly every stretch of my commute home: in la placita olvera where the church bells ring every hour on the hour; at lincoln park where the high walls of la plaza de la raza look over the glassy lake; along huntington drive, home to xocolatl and its mayan cacao; and here, in the junk yards on mission, where men smell like oil and whistle and holler at drivers all day long, “Pasele! Pasele!”

at the mariachi plaza. they play at weddings, birthdays, divorces, sex-change parties and lately, foreclosures.

from second to seventh streets. he sells spanish newspapers and magazines for ten hours each day in front of a latino record store. his little boy, strapped in a stroller a few feet away, sits in the shade and watches.  

a sample of performers along third street promenade.

into details, but this right here was quite an interesting night.

photo: the edison, downtown

i found this today.

the big, beautiful flower market — drip, drip, dripping with color. 

in pajamas at the santa monica pier. 

as paleteros chime their bells and beggars beg and vendors down the street hawk $10 jeans over megaphones drowned by the roar of traffic, the couples arrive on broadway. they stop at the guadalupe wedding chapel across the street from the big, blue mural. grooms in slacks and shiny shoes and brides in puffy wedding gowns that sweep the hot pavement as they stand beneath the chapel’s cupid sign. every saturday morning, happiness comes here and humbly waits its turn. next to a goodwill and an empty parking lot. next to the chapel’s sign advertising its menu of services “marriage, income tax, immigration, divorce.”