On the way to M.’s in Hermosa Beach, I drove past this little gem. Am wondering which came first: wall or house?
M. wanted to take a swim before dinner — too cold for me though. She’s the speck on the far right.
M. is an E.R. doctor in the city. She sees the best and worst of life all day (and night) long, and I’m in total awe of her sanity. In the morning we sat on the sofa and she told me about the time it was her task to call the parents of four teenage car accident victims, only two of whom survived, one in a deep coma. I tried to imagine the horror of her position as messenger, as “the phone call.” When your individual identity is no longer relevant, except for your role in someone else’s life.
I guess this happens every day on some level, though perhaps less frequently in Los Angeles, where so many of us spend much of our time in our private vehicles. Still, how many of us have information that could change someone else’s life, irrevocably?
There’s a bus stop across from the market where I stopped on my way home on Sunday. The storefront next to it has been empty a while — a little love and it’d make a sweet studio.
