by The Rooster on April 29, 2010
watched as the bee floated from honeysuckle to honeysuckle.
Jerking back and forth, the thread-like antennas attached to its head searched deep inside each bulb. Once found, it’d collect the pollen and attach it to its back legs. Weighed down with what looked like little cubes of butter, the bee lazily moved on to the next flower.
I had just finished jogging and was lying in Roxbury Park, trying to take advantage of the L.A. sun. On my stomach, I watched as the bee flew inches from my head. I didn’t flinch as it buzzed dangerously close to my face.
Don’t move, I thought. He’ll see me here, respect me, and move on to the next one. But what if he doesn’t? What if he smacks right into my face? I imagined my face swelling up and how detrimental that would be to my social life. [click to continue…]
by The Rooster on April 25, 2010
here is he?” she said. The white crust on the side of her lips cracked as her mouth twitched.
“He’s here somewhere.” The quiet, gentle hostess said as she looked around.
I saw the woman at the front desk and made a B-line for the bread station. Her name is Raquel and she’s a 54-year-old whack job who comes in with her parents once a week to have dinner. She never sits in her seat. If she’s not constantly getting up to refill her own drink, she’s at the line harassing the Latinos who are preparing her food.
“Make sure there’s no butter on that!” she yells at Hector. “I swear I’ll send it back! My Mom doesn’t eat butter. It’ll kill her! She’ll die if an ounce of butter gets on that pasta!”
Poor Hector doesn’t fully understand what she’s yelling about, but he does understand that if he makes one small mistake she’ll jump over the line and go straight for his jugular.
“Pinche zorra loca,” he mutters under his breath. Translation: Fucking crazy bitch. [click to continue…]
by The Rooster on April 21, 2010
os Angeles is windy. It’s not typical to see wind in L.A. this time of the year. During the fall when the Santa Anna winds whip through the city, it’s normal, but in the middle of April is odd. The warm gusts send palm tree leaves flying from the sky onto your car. Dust storms circle entrances at the liquor stores. Every stop light is out, causing traffic jams at 10 o’clock at night. As I’m sitting in my car, surrounded by a sea of break lights, I remember the wind storms on Whidbey Island. [click to continue…]
