When I first moved to L.A. almost three years ago, I ended up near Downtown. I lived just a couple blocks north of the Staples Center, kind of Pico-Union area. The food was great; roach coaches with burritos as big as your head for four dollars, served with shaved radishes, cucumbers soaked in chile and lemon, and red or green chile (both hot as hell). Once I went for a bacon-wrapped hot dog in the Fashion district and it even had pickled beets. The Central Americans always made it seem homey. But in November, I went down to San Diego to visit my sister while she was there on a convention, and something in me just looked at the ocean, and snapped. All the years I spent in Hawaii just fell on me like a ton of bricks as I watched the weather on the water. I decided to move to the west side, the sooner, the better. Here I am. I still work Downtown, but at the end of the day I get on my bike and slide out Venice Boulevard toward the sunset. The air is cleaner, and I go to the seaside several times a week, just to do my grocery shopping or go for a ride. I feel better now.
© 2010 Ele Munjeli