I am awoken by the sound of Spanish polka music. I hear the neighboring kids scream as they gather in the hall before school. Footsteps of elephants tromp loudly past my door. I grunt, rolling over. The sun is shining into my studio apartment. My white dove Angel coos loudly ringing in the beautiful morning.
My red haired Pomeranian is glued to my hip, rolling onto his back. All four paws are up while his mouth hangs open. I slowly sit up, rubbing my eyes smiling. I gracefully lean over to my window peeking through the blinds. I admire the black sneakers hanging from the telephone wires. I’ve grown quite fond of them over the past few months. I quietly make my way out of bed careful not to wake Toby Thompson. I proceed toward my coffee maker scooping in the Foldgers. Moments later a head pops into the kitchen with a wagging white tail.
“Good Morning Toby.”
He shakes his body wildly and smiles. I pull up the blinds and hit play on my iPod player. “A Beautiful Morning” sounds by The Rascals. My canary Maribel begins to sing loudly, clapping her little apricot wings. I look out of my kitchen window and for a moment I feel like I am back in Paris looking out upon the Moulin Rouge in the Pigalle sector.
“God I miss Paris.”
I feel like I have lived many lives. I was on business at the time working for Corporate America. We stayed at a lavish boutique hotel greeted with espresso and croissants. My co-workers and I dined at 5 star restaurants and had a glass of wine with every meal. At night the city echoed with drunken laughter, bottles smashing through the streets, and French music. It was a romantic city with couples making out along the banks of the Seine River. The Eiffel Tower couldn’t be captured in a single photo, massive in size. It glittered like a fairy on absinthe, sparkling radiant like a diamond in the dark sky. During the late afternoon I walked along the water with a pistachio gelato in hand staring at Notre Dame…
“Ugh..”
I am interrupted by more sounds of Spanish music blaring from another direction. It seems they are trying to out do my neighbor. In the distance I see corporate buildings, banks, and run down hotels. I am not looking at the Moulin Rouge; I am looking at downtown LA. I walk over to my coffee gurgling, grabbing a mug. It may not be espresso, but it’s the small things in life that make me happy now. I slip on my Havana silver flip-flops and put on Toby Thompson’s blue leash. He’s been through it all my furry friend, a trip across the country, many moves, my relationships, and now he is a dog of the urban streets.
(To Be Cont. =>)
Tags: Downtown LA, Following your dreams, France, Moulin Rouge, Paris, Quartier Pigalle, Seine, Struggling artist, writings on making it in LA
